i will not bore you

Devastations

My little red thread
my hermit thrush or vesper sparrow
honey and mud
human hair and dog hair
electrical tape
a twist tie
and maybe
some of your own feathers

I can remember
quietly living
where the increments
are never consistent
in the sound of rowing oars
spelling out numbers
climbing the teeth of a wheel
biting the hip of an ocean
looking for things
other creatures don’t look for

The wind caught your umbrella
and blew it from your hands
you chased it down through the devastations
carrying your shoes at your side
barefoot through the puddles and gutters
a marble in pedestrian traffic
like zeros and decimal points
loops and knots
the rain and life around you

Abalone

An abalone diver is asleep
under a lemon tree
the last of the humpbacks
float in the wrinkled water
he finds a spot on the horizon
where the clouds move constantly
and says to himself
“that’s the rest of the world.”

She walks along the beach
looking for the vertebrae of a creature
no one else believes existed
the air smells like olives and burnt toast
when she finds him beneath
the lemon tree
he looks up at her
like a bird flying south
like the first time he saw order