SpringskinI put you to papercrinkled, crumpledattentively creasedvalleys and petal foldsyour square halves and round thirdstucked with curious fingerstenderly fondled from dismantled treesI hope now to unfurlconstant, completeinaugural sightseeinga piecemeal count of interior ringsyour perennial frecklesthe tissue peels of busy nailswarm winter scales on your elbows and kneesI would fit in your palmcraved, caressedexpertly tendedleaf green and nut sweetmarks of age soaked in our springskina fresh knuckle scar bent to your lipeach kiss in lightning, like honey from bees- A.L. Cook
Senbazuruone wish or three: four for forgettingpale yellow copies of yesterday’s thoughtsten thousand creased receiptsreturning to seedmeanwhile we - little weedsheart-thick and featherweightsprout a crop fit for crocodilesmidwinter in the farmer’s almanacdusty, the fieldseven hills and five riversink-black Erebus typeset with tarknee-high Nile of paper and clayour feet grow roots, our fingers flowerideas disseminate, word by worldbacterial pulp, windmill widequillblades sown sky-bright into bluereaping the ream is full bodied workwe are splendidly scytheda garland of wingspoised for a flight left