Discretionary Love

The porch talk is weighed down by crows & we look at the sun hoping it looks back. The eggs are scrambled & the dog

There was a bird That I used to nourish Like a red rose Like an old rotting tree In a desert left to die. He

my demons sink into the abyss of memory and drown in the hollow between her breasts, she touches my arm and presses back we are

You’re out there, I know it, and I’ll never meet you— never walk with you through April orchards, never duck in a doorway with you

While you in Italy study cherubs, at Autumn’s first slap of season’s colorful cold, the Swiss goats hunker in the run-down shed Hanoverians shelter on

You know to fear windowless white vans. You know a trunk’s as good as a coffin. You know to kick and bite and scream Like

are all over the floor. The front door is open and I should sweep them out. Instead, I close the door. My Brittany growls at

When I think of you, I part my lips imagine breathing you in like curls of smoke you exhale into my mouth standing in your

I know you didn’t see it coming all those years ago when you took up with him– the young guy, the one who knew the

                               I My brother told me this, in physics, when something