eleven years, no rain

Cold air burns my cheeks, now I spend my daydreams

screaming: on dark beaches, next to late-autumn trees.

I’d like to paint everything the darkest shades of green

and escape, in a bout of wanderlust, to the brightest fields.

Yet the street lamps crack, flickering on open seascapes

& neighbors sing against the wind in the happiest birthday

—cacophony of broken cries, garrulous gossip and silent waves.

The candles fog over; could never see you past thirteen,

anyways. At night, I shuffle through dry mire

claw to find traces of rain— (remnants of wistful criers)

& slink behind crowds in more loquacious shires

Funny, they haven’t seen such absense of flood in decades.

di di, I ordered a diluted coffee in your honor

and the gesture sank deeper than the bottoms of lakewater,

powdered brown clings onto dry air, once champagne weather

You’ll tell me, if you’re twirling with the carcasses of dragonflies

when the downstream empties into an open basin

& you narrowly miss the limestone in a surprising mid-spin?

Broken transmission: I don’t bet on losing dogs, the motions

just on familial anticipation, all the things that disappear.