Drooling from stone lips
a cold trickle emerged, cleansed
by layers of dirt
Basboosa's barrow
tumbled: 'No permit, no work.'
He burned in the street.
Draw a circle in
the air. Move your hand forward.
Slowly. Close enough.
a cold trickle emerged, cleansed
by layers of dirt
Slither of sapwood
silk string wrenches nock to nock
breath waits while head wanders
tumbled: 'No permit, no work.'
He burned in the street.
Vernal equinox
crocuses in purple pools
that warm day in March
the air. Move your hand forward.
Slowly. Close enough.