quiet spider —
this thick clay bowl
full of sun
a hoarse and wicked thirst.
sweet apple chamomile.
pebble follows pebble, into the urn.
nine bones and two skulls.
this warm bed full of coldwater minnows.
dancing in an outside circle until I fall out of the ring.
these feathers redder than fire.
this fifteen-minute dream of arms, of legs.
a sudden burst of swan-skinned redemption.
this wet ball of soil like a shooting star.
a good place, dried by the wind of my wings.
over the woods, over the waters.
not complaining because I did fly that day.
orange blossom honey.
I wave a hind away from the harem.
we sleep with golden crowns snug upon our heads.
noise — unexpected like thunder.
I leap into the sky, spilling this taste of cornmeal.
this thick clay bowl full of sun.
silken threads unnoticed in the sky.