floating up the neon flood a school of eyes

 deeper than an ocean roar a dry cough

 

 wind thumbing the alphabet the tall and short of clouds 

 

 strapped to a lamp post skin moulting unlabeled

 

 

 whale clouds crossing the night bridge for breath

 

 no one addresses darkness with due respect 

 

 stirring the eye of a hurricane in her matcha

 

 

 storm wind a pregnant silence heaves

 

 he pries open a wind-blown empty gift box despair in the time of the COVID-19

 

should fingers born elastic be of man whose dreams belie a hand?

the book tells me twist your curls in spirals to heaven 

boat-like no matter his foot marks melt the mud

the next page a loon  known to me

vacuumed silence a tundra

insomnia the creek talks in stitches