Hairy fields
the last dog like a knife
slicing home
One-hundred page glass book
hot wasps and tourists everywhere
broiling heat steaming through walls
His face is thrilled with energy
let me show you my vortex he says
my aim is water
Half-sleeping
wakes up out of his picture
he is taller than he remembers
Half-sleeping
resumes hesitantly
the upright role of flowers