I’m here in casea useful word slinks by,a shy creationshifting sound or sense,replacing urgent red ink with mauveon a thousand-hued pallet,a color wheel spinningwithout my hand on the crank–Crank!Machinery to move a fussy mind,to tell me I’m wrong, again,a chimera or the patron saintof language, ora pasture fenceto lean againstwhile I admire other tongues.

It sits on the fence,dark plumage untouchable.Its mottled self sets the pulse racing, confident of its powereye to eye, unafraidof long, loud lament,part of the landscapewinged, a marvel lifting off.Well-fed the grief bird lingers, lands again and again,common as any goose,plentiful. Give grief room to fly,and notice where it landsand when it leaves,part of a…

Bless the bed that does notcomplain about my heftor my squirreling under coversto burrow into sleep, an acreageadjacent to the moonand other citizens of the dark.In the hours of trust and silencea dizziness in my inner earrights itself, free of the noisefrom news of guns and quakes, the dinof the now-known world. Yet,without voices I’m…

Neither robot nor drone, yetI live among machines–humidifier, space heater, ceiling fan,three lights, a stove, dishwasher.Without them, no Italian-roast coffee,no clean ceramic mug etchedwith dragon fly and filigree.Nor do I sleep on damp pavementwithout paper, ink, jeans, a quilted vest.If I lose it all, will I cry, “Enough!Give it back!” will anyone hear me?No, I…

The city map has sharp edges, and I livewithin barely visible lines. The lake I seeis not mine, nor do I own the flotilla ofgeese that once wintered there.Carp rise to snap at insectswhose names mean nothingto geese or king snakes, or the eagle who knows its boundaries as it hunts.From my window the view…