For lightning
Attention, our cities, our mothers,
reading your letters: dear tonight
But the blindness of the day, the fruitbearer
Come here
Will you let me dance a little?
His hand, salted. Her body out of the forest, pines, please, a funeral.
The flow of water from a pitcher — lucky
Who holds you at their neck?
All the children — someone says their names every day. Every day
the factory says here’s to running
and living more
on streets told with “after these welcomes”
They are learning how to sing
Where are you going?
Lay back in the stone someday
It’s true that there are no rivers in Denver Colorado
The almond tree ministered a wedding
and gave rest to a girl becoming nameless during sunrise. She discovered how to be religious
But where in this month’s heaven can she find
the same sweetness?