Was it always bluebirds?
Upside down, a paradise
left golden hot red?
Could it be the fur
on the belly of a rabbit?
The deep glow of an iris
tie died blue green together.
Creek of the grasshopper
outside the blue window,
sometime early morning,
humming iridescent opal
hanging on its side, the deep
blue dark night time, the leonids did call
for you, the bees asleep in their cribs, the buzzing,
it’s you, deep dark voice like night time,
paradise golden, the big boom of the sky falling
for november, just like Lincoln saw too, baby moon
the sun burns hot red, your feet
burned, bluebirds singing,
tied together, the sky does not shatter,
the big bloom of the circle sky opals,
the leonids did call on you, me, tied together.
upside-down inside a vase filled with your
water, and when you speak, it will sound
like math, solve for x you will say
as if it has always been that easy, then we dance
and dance with your hair twirled around us
building us up like mummies without tombs,
let us out I will say and I will try to scream it too-
but it sounds like the bubbling of a tea kettle you
left on while you shower, mindless, always
mindless, but we keep dancing even with your hair
suffocating us now, the tea kettle screaming so quietly,
take a deep breath, you say, and we do, again again
until it is redness everywhere like a horizon squinting while
our lungs fill with red, your hair pivoting, bubbling
stops, screaming, fire out, turn off the shower, wet feet,
dripping, a match, slowly, easy, no, quickly- enough.
the redness everywhere with you squinting.