counting smoke plumes
on the mesa horizon
while yucca spire buds
remain un-blossomed.
Between rocks guarding
the front door, a sunflower
stalk bends. I welt too.
Yellow flames wake the air.
“El Tiempo Pasado,” “To the Double Flower of Spring” and “I was a Jesus Impersonator”
Leaving Work
The shrubs are flush—branches scarlet
by the red brick dormitory.
Rolling past Hickory Hill park
leaves blaze into miniature suns.
At Home
In our backyard, the swing set is
as empty as a hollow gourd,
“Ashes and Tears,” “Walking Daffodil (Midnight in Poet City)” and “Reanimation”
She anoints discontented worlds
her claws preening her feathers,
with soft snores tinged by night-light
Enchanted by Mexican seeds,
she exerts vulnerable chirps
from a closed, sharp-slicing beak