Excerpt
It is Not What I Have but I Bring It
On our backs in pine
needles with dirty feet and
whale pleasures I swear
endlessly inside; with
affection with one of
God’s hairs; mandate
brazen. To choose the
color of the bikeshed.
Who stands outside
hears rummaging within.
Impermanence pedals
around a child. How much
colder can it get and still
sway and purse and touch.