Tiny things tie me to you || I hear the bones of the birds in flight | skeletal grace and creak of wings | simmer of the feathers, soft hiss of air moving over them || Roll the stones | this way, then back | letting out the dead, locking them up again | Opening the door to the latest | guest | you line the mirrors, curl inside the bulbs, keeping the filaments true, corral the pits at the hearts of the peaches | steady them | preparing for the bite | saying | This is what we are here for | and if it hurts | nothing is for long and I | have been bitten, too, | it’s alright, this is | why we are called by these names… | Turning off the lights before sleeping | ready to be helpless | nocturnal cooks | run ladles down their hanging pans | I have lost the | thread to wholeness | petals | blown into the room | you ask | calm and precise as an unused needle | a small question | to lead us to the kings and space | fishing boats in the deserts | paradise and all the lost | keys to come: | What are you reading?


from the series fleeting pixel (series of 1,000 poems, 2012–2016)