It’s hard not to jump out instead of waiting to be found. It’s hard to be alone so long and then hear someone come around. It’s like some form of skin’s developed in the air that, rather than have torn, you tear. "Hide and Seek

CROWN Too much rain loosens trees. In the hills giant oaks fall upon their knees. You can touch parts you have no right to— places only birds should fly to.

What keeps me writing is that I can only know through writing. My major sense organ is apparently a pencil.

The satisfactions/of agreement are/immediate as sugar--/a melting of the/granular, a syrup/that lingers, shared/not singular./Many prefer it.

The only real access that I have to my mind is when I'm writing.

Action creates/a taste/for itself.

Who would have guessed it possible that waiting is sustainable. A place with its own harvest.