sweaters

brown

handfuls of brown
i am finding soil everywhere –
under my bed,
tracked through the hallway
it holds his footprints,
it holds the carrots and potatoes
in their darkest hours

damp like a body
soil fell from under his nails,
he brought it 8000 miles
from his home and we all planted there

i’ve heard people
put it in jars / dirt jams from worldwide –
a cabinet of brown preserves.

steve sleeps in an old house

well, we were all there
and you had a broke-down car
and his care was somewhere between
and the house was old,
in that broke-down kinda way
which makes everything pretty like
children's toys in disorder

there was a wind-chime on the porch that
didn’t make a sound
so I tied a knot in the leather and
the noise went
click clank ding tink tong

6 am is still dark, you know
in that broke-down kinda way
and he said “christ –
you sound depressed,
in that broke-down kinda way"

breakfast for you and me:

2 poached eggs/dry toast

i’m slicing oranges for your eyelids while darkroasted coffee percolates for your voice is a ground bean in the morning for toes quiet on melted butter tipping over lands with a dripdrip on the linoleum
morning with you is a cat purr and everything at your place has already been exhaled all sweet skin and refined sugar / i love the way you leave the jam outso it’s never cold in the morning

the morning train

new year's eve

7 am is still dark,
shrugging off
a low/slow moving valley fog
rolling like liquid
off commercial drive
slide east 1st and return
to the fraser,
it sneaks into (river) bed