Get to the point. The year is old, / love—keep me warm.

I bow to daffodils for their / stabbing audacity in grim weeks of winter.

their fallen leaves pale commas / on the text of dry earth.

La Alameda flashes lapis in / a platinum face you love

I put “love” in my mouth / swallowed hard, felt it go down my throat

(What is there / if not honesty, a good ear, a place / to call home?)

What will you do if you can’t / divide perfectly in two?

She said that we’re born bad, unable to rinse / the dirt from our blood

Outside, the night sky is / writhing with spirits

But / it was the breath / that kept coming back

“that iconic neck, existing / purely for beauty’s sake— / until you take your picnic”

I have one breath left and I’m learning / how to say it all at once.

A farmer or baker could have served just as well. / There are many figures of speech.

When daylight breaks and enters cracks / open a window with the sheer force

Three winters and a spring / hung in little flags above his bed.

Suppose a woman is truth / and truth a mirror

Best to remain unannounced / to rest nestled against his large shoulder.

let’s hear from the melodic nugget/one more time; if i turn/
to the fragment of a kiss

I tell you it’s the flower of death./ The flower that reposes/ with words shut into the old.

A running dog/ Tries to strike/ The stagnated twilight