
Who’d want to steal dew?
Maybe not me, maybe not you?
Then again, if you’d discovered
that dewdrops were heaven’s pearls
(the precious spittle of the stars

If I lie
on a page
am I a free word?
If I fly
in a cage
am I a trapped bird?
If I cry
with eyes of green
See her moonlight
bloom from thick forest
leaving the ground
plucking words from the stars
half heather mosses
deep purple wherries
In need of some repair,
six point seven billion
careless owners.
Lovely views of the galaxy,
possible renovation project.
Owners seek exchange
The cold is solid,
hard against thighs,
steel to toe.
In the mirror of the gas fire
my face distorts,
thin, too long.
We giggle,