Pollen and Fallen

More storms and afterwards, the red bellied woodpecker works the suet feeder. Pollen and fallen seeds mix with rainwater to make the deck sticky. The sparrows do not seem to mind. I write “karibu” in the yellow alchemy as the breeze blows clumps of the dog's freshly brushed coat like golden tumbleweeds. It means we are not friends and we are not lovers, but we have a place. Welcome.

Friday night at the restaurant, one friend sent back her drink because it didn't have salt on the rim; another friend sent back her drink because it didn't have sugar. The clientele was wealthy and the venue was on the water. The group talked about trips to New York City and Louis Vuitton bags. On Saturday, I went to a movie with poets and on the way home, we shared a pizza from a place with bullet holes in the store front glass. We discussed our ultimate thruple situation and other nuances of sexuality. This paragraph is orchestrated as a comparison and yet, there is none to be made. I'm no longer the shapeshifter. I stare into the mirror with perfect recognition. A door closes on certain aspects of life in order to open fully to another. It's okay. It's always okay.

The wind
and this intuitive keel –
freedom masked
as danger

cross the interior landscape
to surrender unto the fetch
of the sea

Paramore – tarot and candle wax – a long holiday coming to a close.

Tarot shows the secrets I hide from myself with stunning accuracy. It reverses my arrivals and reminds me of love always welling – even from wounds – even from the invisible.

This poetry – these lines masquerading as surprise – the words reminding you of how close we are to disappearing.