The shadows of my fingers get confused
when I’m typing, just like in my head
where I keep messing up. The disasters
are pretend but much larger than life
& the fall out blooms like a puff
ball spread out to create a new radiant
backyard of yellow debris. I start out
to say one thing & say something else.
The question of the apple
in the bowl made of newsprint turns into a lesson
on how to hold together. Precious metals
anchor your hand made only out of skin.
My eyes fall into the grooves of this
morning in the morning; my napkin
unused while the coffee supply dwindles.
The air isn’t cool & the light
isn’t ready. I lodge them both in my heart.
The cactus on the window sill,
stuffed full of water.
One thousand needles. All the beauty
I’ve seen has been mostly by accident.