It's half-lidded whispers, aural artifacts mouthed by drowsing eyes. (someone took the name of my favorite flower and made her real) It's the coarse grain on the heel or hand, the will you, won't you, and where am I? It's the moon scything through the cumulus while bare feet idly kick at the tide sneaking up under a summer-side pier.

WILT Dry husk dawn in a corn maze; the bull in the middle can't kill the scarecrow enough. It's gotta rain soon. All our fathers marched before us, into the fields, out of the fields, through killing fields and poppy fields, swinging ever-evolving sickles, never easing their grip if they got back home. It's gotta rain soon. Flowers bought in full bloom will never bud again and bare their orchid teeth; too much sun, too much shit, too little water. It's gotta rain soon. Inside the salt-bleache...

WILT Dry husk dawn in a corn maze; the bull in the middle Can't kill the scarecrow enough. It's gotta rain soon. All our fathers marched before us, into the fields, Out of the fields, through killing fields And poppy fields, swinging ever-evolving sickles, Never loosing their grip when they got back home. It's gotta rain soon. Flowers bought in full bloom Will never bud again and bare their orchid teeth; Not enough sun, not enough shit, too little water. It's gotta rain soon. Inside the salt-...

Tra-loo, tra-lye, la-lullabye Tra-la, tra-lye, tra-loo, Tra-loo tra-lye, my Sleepy Eyes, I sing this song for you. Tra-loo, Tra-lye, my Dearest Prize, We named the moon La Lune, Tonight we'll wish the stars to life, And fly there dreaming soon. Hear tra-lye, the lazy sigh As the river slowly flows; If the creatures of the woods were here, They'd curl up warm and close. It's time to lay the day behind Your pillow soft and smooth; Tonight, Dear play in glittering skies, Tra-la, Tra-lye, Tra-loo.

THE ONE IN THE WOODS There is one in the woods whose laughter is like bird sounds. His wiry hair becomes tangled with leaves as he combs through the alder trees. He uses nettles as itching powder to brush on arms and legs, he plucks lashes from his lids and plants them in the ground, knowing when he returns ferns will have grown. The One in the Woods put antlers on deer so he could hold on for the ride. He made mushrooms to sit on while waiting for snails he races through the glade. Anthills ...

A Raven, a rowboat, a monk and the sea. Shell-flocked low-tide sand and rock; Orphaned orange Madrona tree. Slate grey swells are shore-bent Blown by greyhound clouds; A monk wraps his bath robe tight, Anoints his lips with coffee. He intones stock quotes from Wireless scripture; the Raven shifts its Madrona grip From claw to claw, Waiting, wanting, wanting, waiting for the Monk's watch to drop. Nothing lost now but a paddle slap As a wave pitches the empty rowboat And claims one oar. It's en...