In Passing

There is no handle

On the handleless

No grip to catch the light

As shade detracts and

Takes the color, too

Dreams in the Heat

Where does the Acid

Not wash away

The faces of all dusty day


Maybe to pry the

Slits from the Meat

Maybe to sleep through the night

No grips / anymore

You can't get a handle  

In what only slips  

Not count  

The pieces that stack  

Try then to bear

The wind in all things  

That burn you  

Apart in due course  

Springtime 3

Keep the doors closed

So they can't see you breath

Shallower shallower

Or

Maybe not at all

Springtime 2

If it all comes apart

then

It all comes apart



We welcome the nerves to

come



Scratching out days

in

The dust and the

shade



When sleep only comes

after noon