i am nostalgic for all these things

coffee

on laidback mornings when light
is still dim but growing
and the sun has yet to stretch
from its midnight rest, meanwhile
water falls from its rolling boil
and subsides to a humming churn
— a background lofi track for
lifting kettlepouring waterdripping coffee thatdripsanddripsamber of another place
to place of cup unrushed
time seeping is what it takes
for this to percolate, until
burning reality must be faced
misty thoughts still clinging dissipate
— yet a lofi sound worm track
plays stilland beatsin my head

late nights

off kiltered circadian rhythms
are kindling for sleepless nights
crouching over processed trees
used for inferior means
while infinite stars rotate ignored
in perfect symmetry
so maybe
I’ll shove this to the side
and stare at the cloudless sky

h
o
u
s
e

p l a n t s

bring a plant inside
on shelf and water it while
outside garden dies.

condensed forest of broad leaves
against white walls of concrete.

sward

laying out with backs to the grass
while dog rolls between the blades
face first
in a field sunbaked yet grows green
must be
what’s underneath our
bodies still
despite the rotting and decay
grass deepens then reaches for the
blazing sky
filling lungs with scented revery
for the dusking walk home

mangroves

bodies contorting in an     avant-garde dance
frozen mid     motion into windswept hands
sun bleached skeleton     twisting upward in
supplication     graying with each lapping wave

l
o
n
e
l
i
n
e
s
s

this is what

alone

feels like in the
dark with no light.

summer storms

a blank canvas of gray
shapeless solid shifting
sometimes drizzling rain
but now hinting of warm
setting sun rays hiding
unseenultimatelythe canvas crumples
into visible clouds
billows balm pink blushing
but now fading to gray
shadows blanketing earth
unseenultimately

clay

sunbaked clay immersing a summer world
in its orange hue glow even though it hides below
cut grass pressed dry by polite people’s feet
into smooth trails I walk along alone
while nodding at passerby in silence.

w a t e r

f
a
l
l

friends sitting on a rock
watching cold water fall
and saying nothing at all
while leaves float to the surface
from trees shedding the last
memories of spring.

geese

sitting on the front step
waiting for the sunset
behind cedars lining
road dusty from day’s drudgery
and then I hear
from another unpaved path
traveled in formation
travelers in migration
from frigid mountain streams
their currents slowing into solids
freezing last summer’s dreams

blowdryers

tiptoeing on a stool
to cast my reflection
onto the bathroom mirror with fingers half the size
gripping a blowdryer meant for drying dripping heads
but I blow everything
except for my head

hot air making the hair
on my neck stick straight out
my shirt rising like a jellyfish, slow motion
floating, covered in bumps up and down my spinal ridge
they spread with shivering
as good feelings do

white noise droning, drowning
after shower hours
into foggy clock hands and foggier mirrors filled
with cowlicks and damp feet
i can’t see past misty
imagery — but i still hear
the oscillating beat

fall

leaves parachuting to earth
before the first snow
have a way of persuading
brain neurons to slow
down the mental stream
till it’s trickling
with thoughts so sparse one sneaks in
from their home of now bare limbs

c
o
l
d

s
h
e
e
t
s

40 degrees
not enough to freeze
but enough
to stay
in bed.

december

rhythms just offbeat enough to
make leaves dance by the window now
closed to the blue sky’s brisk
breeze looking for a warm place to
look through frosted panes from the
other side

winter monochrome

as birds come to roost
and sun sinks to rest
in caves below horizons
now bleeding last gasp
of colors once flush with life
pink and indigo and gold
hues now fading fast
then shuddering cold
into desaturated wind
full of white and midnight and ice

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