The women—I want to say women, but really they were girls …

This morning I released, without a doubt, the same bright trout I gathered in my net …

The room ticks, a cry from the bassinet, time’s mouth speaks again …

My sons are on a mission, wielding sticks and nixing iridescent bubbles …

I used to want you to understand all of it: the dripping roof, stalagmites rising up like dandelions …

In the future we will live in pods of reclaimed wood and very white bed-linens …

On good weeks it happens twice. Once on Sunday morning, sunlit sanctuary …

ICE arrested someone on my block. Walking my dog, I saw the witness first …

to the absence of your own voice filling your inner silence …