Summer Fling

The turtles have 

returned to the river. 

The ducklings 

have grown old.

I stand in the wolf-
kissed ether.

The lake is just 

beginning to swell.

I don't want
our howls to wane

with the summer,
this ship in August's
   
     setting sun.

Wading

I am alien

with my most

unimportant pinky

still dying

to phone you home.

My wave
has turned

into a partially
clenched fist.

I remember how

I used to throw
out five fingers

and make my hand dance.

Shallow Seas

Gigantic crescent
moon house,

the coming
of the skull fish.

Scrambled
octopus going,

"Mom, Mom."

This is your
cranial compartment

on Planet Earth.

Liberal Arts

I used to follow
signs like when

the wind would blow
a book open.

But the wind
is never really

the wind.

She was always
blowing the dead

out of her bedroom
with the window fan.

Wax Oceanic

I writhe
under a

blood-scarred

moon.

My
scarred heart

is roughly half

mooned;

my half
moon's thirst

is fully mourning.

Good morning

mysterious

derecho.