Let’s drive to eastern Oregon and glimpse a ring of fire eclipse with cowboy friends a maiden’s hair lopped off and cast away with a sorrow deep as a golden prayer bowl.

We move together because the planets do

I thought the scattered hay was from a fairy tale, a maiden’s hair lopped off and cast away with a sorrow deep as a golden prayer bowl.

My eyes flit back to the square yellow figure doing its antics above me.

Lightning spares some, incinerates others. And yet I can’t not revel when thunder booms across the lake

When she stirs, the night nestles close, the sky is cracked open you can hear the wind

The cords tore, ripped pieces away, and you were left

She insists on making a little potato salad, stooping to get vinegar from a lower cabinet.

All the light is slowly seeping from the world and all of autumn’s works are come undone

And we, you and I, all of us, might see these old bones arch back to life

How close apocalypse feels touching this stone.

I’d never seen one before, but she wears the points translucently, her real one almost comical against the square cardboard cut-outs covered with gold glitter, an Instagram

The thing was misbehaving;             it raged with stale, smoky breath. sidewalk’s upward slope just outside my bedroom window.

I lit a candle for him, my wife trying to sleep on the couch

There is no end of them, it seems: these doors Within doors, propped open in their own good

You say little, but words swirl— no ahead and no behind, only you

An awakening, a tiny trickle of truth, like the crisp autumns somersaulting the sidewalk’s upward slope just outside my bedroom window.

We barely knew, then, what it meant to venerate A life that shone ahead like a mid-day star;

Last night she heard her father coughing in the basement. She says that’s not unusual.

Little one, hear your life in the slanting warble of the finch.