I
What happens
when fate is tangled?
Weed-knots,
stems twisted,
straining necks,
dandelion-ghost
seeds flying in the breeze,
never to know
what was or could be.
II
The dew of summer,
of humid underarm and
sticky upper lip—
a locust's buzz,
the burp of a bullfrog.
The freight train passes,
hissing madly,
large and kingly—
roaring, roaring.
Tangled like bramble or burrs
in cat's fur,
tangled fingers in my hair,
the scent of earth the dew
of grass the stars the smog,
the air's so thick.
I'm in the night, the starry night,
the world so heavy
in me, on me,
the weight is large
and kingly, roaring,
and in the distance
a freight train, humming.
Tangling in me
and upon me, the dew
of summer
the salt
the residue.
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