Water Wheel

The solstice is closer than it's been all year

Barreling toward some sort of equilibrium

Despite yesterday, tripping on a snow mound.

This present sense of planlessness is wafting

Down the hall along with the odor of cat hair

Burnt by leaning against the radiator belly-up

February is so swift it'll be long gone when

We notice the dairy bar lines and Belthane fires

New stars come back around and only last month

We paused to greet Orion on the dog walk 

I keep dreaming of spinning in pirouettes scenes 

Water wheels and flour mills and scarlet wine

This whole sky is alive and churning and we are

In it so I'm not gunning towards nothing I'm just

Letting the airs tell me what time it could be  

 

Having A Spell

A break in the spell I've been having,

instead of the blood rushing round my head

the thrum in my right ear when I lie on that side,

I'm almost asleep and will only wake for the

bathroom.

Otherwise I'm vaguely annoyed,

or just blank, in shock, in recognition that

this is how I react to things now: my heart

certainly switches up at night because what

if this is just how I react to things now,

that how much water I drink in this dryness

is not what keeps me up at night, is less

than a night trying to summon sympathy for men

coming of age around men.