and there,

heart beat with black and orange wings.
the mother gene, the cavern home,

ah, little white lights.

goldfish, in endless stream, my cicada moon,
my hot, sweet, deep dream.

this wooden bowl, filled with light-bleached
snail shell hope.

why?

why not??

my baby mama, my fragile flood.

hush a-bye, wooden cradle songs.

memories and premonitions,
layered in every image.

the lady in the white dress? behind
the broken door?

the paint peels.

she is gone.

then, gone again.

we will roll in the mint,
the bees will leave us be.

turn this way, here, into the light.
let it catch the shadow and throw
it away.

turn this way, here into the storm.
you will catch the lightening,
then you will know how to throw away

the things that break you.