One Wheel
What I Could Hear
Winter Story
Sick with the Sun

What to Say
Hiking a Mountain...
North for Winter
When I love you...
Seven Hours
The Morning After
Learning to Drive
Place of White Plains
Green on Blue...
The First Time...
How I Am
For hours...
Enter June dusk...

The First Time I Made Love Began Like This

The very edge of dawn
is pinned by the rain, under ledges
and in doorways where the city stays dry
a pigeonís red eye cages the song of
finches and doves. I whisper
in the pre-morning world to you but
not with wordsóby the age of two I could
talk but only in sounds, language
came like a pile of bricks, one word
on top of another,
slowly making senseó

At night
Iím anxious for the morning, your shoulder
is the final mountain the sun coats
before I wake. My body goes deeper
than sleep; feathers beat against the cold
like no human sound. Iíve been
pulled from the night to unbind this morning; in your arms
what Iíve done has been tucked
into silence. I rise from bed to drink a glass

of water before brushing my teeth. Nothing
works out like I plan it: this day is over
when we rise; each morning the sun
is an eggshell that cracks with the sound
of an alarm. Your arms grow lighter
than the core of an apple and
I forget myselfómy body is mostly

water, covering the city streets, unable to find
the pores of the earth.

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