early fall exists; aftertaste, afterthought;
seclusion and angels exist;
widows and elk exist; every
detail exists; memory, memory’s light;
afterglow exists; oaks, elms,
junipers, sameness, loneliness exist;
eider ducks, spiders, and vinegar
exist, and the future, the future
***
unfathomably translated from the Danish by Susanna Nied
missing you is like
spring standing still on a hill
amid winter snow.
*
we stumbled into
each other’s lives like two young
children playing house.
*
when i return home
to sleep the shadow of you
covers me with day.
*
you have stamped your hour
on me, tattooed yourself on
me like sheets of silk.
*
mostly just this
mixed in with this
(thanks kaz)
and misha sold four prints
and there are flowers all over the house, even by the sink and right here on the desk
and there are four dollars in “20,000 words” which means at least 2 people have my chapbooks
and maybe, maybe, some sort of art scene to remember is getting going in san diego, but even if not, even if we’re all just smartpeople in a yard for a party, it feels good to remember how many good people there are in this city, and that with some wood and tacks and trashbins-turned-to-tables and the help of farmily, art can happen right next to where we live, and even though no one on the east has seen this thing we did and made, we will bring it wherever we bring our selves, sideyard or sideporch or sideacre of a plot of land…
Between houses appears your unmistakable
hair, the hair of a wild man, wilderness
clothed in cottons. We warm
each other and warn the seasons
of their attributes. The winter steals
the softness from our elbows and you,
browned soldier, are older than
the weatherman predicts, more full
of starch, your heels unpeeling. Hot
beet skins stain a paper bag.
1. NOONIE link. Nuni. Nuny—SNL, you win on this one.
2. David and Sandy Katz, summertime
3. Long poem that’s worth it and made me cry, in a good way.
4. Today I planted thousands of sunflowers. Literally thousands, and about half a dozen types. In a few months, there will be a 1.8 acres more of beauty in the world, and I will have been part of it.
panache, perhaps 
