This is where the wheel is broken at the cistern / and the weeds of dandelion rise to over six feet tall, / their star-shaped heads not yet in blossom.

I love expectation // beauty subsumed

Everything / is for sale. A blue-eyed boy / knocks his head against my hip, / reaches for the Styrofoam form / I hold in my hand. A halo or a hat, / I say and put it on his head, / watch it fall around his neck.

Time can mean grace for survivors of sharp ends. Like, how one afternoon, god meant finding your eyes. I’m trying to say thank you for teaching me how to quit arching away from the glass, how to lean in.