Poetry

you can tell me
about your dreams

your forecast is
fantastic

The dark stills beneath a wafer of moon.
House lights switch off, and the fence line reveals

My heart has been called
a most infinite black hole—not
in emptiness but constant

it’s happened this way
since I was born

Late August. The kids were heading back.
Two to college, one to high school.
We were taking them to dinner at a place
by the inlet,

“Paint me a volcano,” she said

it is okay
that i am the invasive species

Being a Marsh baby, every summer day is swallowed

i am well aware that the name belongs to a pig