scent of rock rose
in the rain
I cross the bridge
like Orpheus did
(if the office is Hades)
trying not to look back
but then I feel white
as a pillar of sal
t
a statue, I stop
at the memory of her face
in her father’s arms
on the porch
bleak and exhausted
on this night of no sleep
if I was to run back
I would clasp
her infant shape
to my breast and rest
all day

trilogy of care:
feeding, sleeping, diapering
four month Zephyr babe

The sky was thick with heat
We biked until our lungs filled

With moisture and collapsed
Like wet paper

On the roadside to
Take a photo of a barn

And corn ears that lifted
The clouds and shined

Just as bright
As the sun

pulling down curtains
I leaned over the typewriter
sparks   round   holes
and fire   I dragged the rug
in the kitchen   a bucket
water   The typewriter did not
my face   hands   the heat from the caldera
yellow fire   fast    roaring
rumbling   grinding noise
my bucket, of course, not aflame

Thoughts: my
pay attention to be
too tired