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FRYING SQUASH BLOSSOMS
flour and seltzer curl with the oil’s touch,
blossoms transformed, a hot-sweet scent
coiling away from the dark pot,
and your hand touches mine as
you guide me out of your way–
my uncertainty permitting you to form me,
pressing into the kitchen doorway,
then watching the petals sizzle.

ARMS OUTSTRETCHED
metal cranes loom over the riverbank,
skeletal arms stretching high– hands unseen
behind towering, steely helmets that keep
them safe, watchful. the water below
is dark and cold, splitting the city
like a slow wound, but the cranes move
steady, lifting up what's been abandoned.

SUBSTANCES FLOW
doves lift off the pavement like a tide
pulling back from the shore, their wings
gliding through the city’s breath– slipping
between currents. below, a stray dog stretches
in the slanting afternoon light, the first cigarette
of the day burning slow between someone's fingers,
its smoke curling like question marks.

SOLITARY MOMENTS BETWEEN BUILDINGS
evening pulls our shadows long, dragging them across
the worn bricks of old buildings– graffiti catching in the
fading light, muted and dull, like whispers too tired
to be heard. pigeons huddle in alcoves, feathers ruffled
against the chill, watching the world turn as the sun
slides behind the horizon, indifferent to their small lives.

ELDERS
train tracks stretch into the distance, gleaming
beneath the weight of rusted cars that haven’t known
the taste of movement in a long time, now– parked
in this little lot, bound to watch crows hop along the rails,
searching for crumbs, dipping their heads beneath the loose
screws and bolts. the sky cracks into pale blue and steel
like chipped paint on old porch swings, calling you in
for an old story.

EGGSHELLS SPLIT OVER THE SINK
shells split open with ease, white streaks in gray water,
curling like something soft and forgotten. yolks gone,
the other insides slip away, and you watch the fragments
swirl down with the current, a small whirlpool forming
in the metal basin.

A PREMONITION
the peach pits are buried just deep enough
that their tops peek out– small, forgotten
monuments to the summer just passed.
the sand clings to their rough edges,
and the tide rolls in slow, not quite enough
to reach them yet. the beach is empty,
except for the gulls, circling overhead, waiting
for something to wash ashore.

KNOTTED CHERRY STEMS ON A WINDOWSILL
they’re twisted, knotted tight, lined up in a row of
giggly victories. the window’s cracked open,
and the air smells like cut grass and something
sweeter, maybe just out of reach. the sun filters through,
casting long shadows– drawling lines of dark across
the ledge– and they sit still, reveling in its warmth,
cherry pits in the compost below.

CYCLES, CYCLES, CYCLES
fence posts stand like sentinels, lined up in perfect rows,
marking the edge of something uncrossable–
barbed wire strung between them glinting
in the harsh midday sun, casting shadows
sharp enough to cut. a hawk circles overhead,
its wings stretching wide, call echoing in the space
between the posts. i wonder if it knows
the boundaries i see or if the sky is too endless for those.