-
all raw astonishment, Eve rubbing
-
Take my bright
-
The world wounds us
-
calling the sky “a grey slate” or clouds
-
it’s a festival we want a popsicle some honeydew a break
-
To resurrect some sunset favored by doves,
-
Every person is a half-open door
-
and I often
-
this sense of well-being, the flourishing
-
Immutable rays
