I am dirt, bruised by lake light. white rain, mauve / clouds, the sky’s breath leaking.

The frangipani’s last falling flower makes its way to a graveyard on the passing-by shroud?

Started telling my grandmother / I love her. Loudly, daily, over video calls with / my mother, my mother holding / the phone.

it’s 1906 / my great grandfather Sam lays tefillin / for the last time then leaves / them on the bedside table, / a loosening; the leather straps / left to dangle

First I wake the body / to unring a bell— / as the proctor rolls up I slam down right on the tit / of the sexy mermaid we sculpted / in the sand pit.

In our youth, glaciers winged free to the highway.

Are / sleep nets / sparse / dense / or selfish / in their / weaves?

Endings begin with a rumbling: / clap of thunder at the top / of the finale, creak and release / of the bus as it rises from its bow, / first vibrations of the tornado / siren.

Empty basilica, wood slat / walls, white Jesus expressionless. / Blue eyes and blue eyes and blue / eyes and more inaccuracies / in the courtyard.