The upper floor of the old byre
a darkness made of owl-stare—
its blink drinks you in.

No green swell this evening
will detach me from my hat.

That night,
the stars had slept. The wind
silent as something dying.

hamlet asked it to the dark night sea
where do waters end and i begin 

The pelican is so dovey, with her funny crème anglaise feathers with pink and her split-ended  crest and  mouth.

inside the apiary it is always spring
human beings and honey bees cohabiting

We Should Probably Get Up Now

but, outside, the world has paused:
the wind has put down its loneliness

      Interior My dear, I washed you out of my sheets. And now I sleep softly in them. My dreams are sweet and free. I opened the windows to air out your smoke. I liked it for a while, how it held the past in its wispy fingers. I emptied your cigarette...