I’m waiting for news I don’t want to talk about
and scrolling through old photos to escape.
After some swipes, I see you walking away.

The night before we left we smoked opium
for the first time and didn’t sleep.

Perhaps some small creature fallen
from where it should be. I am unsure
whether I saw it move.

We cannot update you yet, other than to say we are caught
in a doldrums between stations and that your father can wait
as he has been waiting these past two years . . .

A woodpigeon calls
his five-note matins.

Petals ratchet wide
as the sun rises.

Distance from the ground has become
a way of reminding myself,
how the earth turns her swaying tilt

Inside May’s warm beauty
I think of God and of the Virgin Mary.
I’ve always loved Mary.

three sheep and a sharp wind, behind
which I feel involvement start
to tug.

I’m six days late
and this is known as a
delinquent period.