Hunter-Gatherers

She lets go
in three ways,

and in the wake
of this small miracle,

they leave the water.
They become

hunter-gatherers.
He hands her

something red
and tells her

the story
of a woman

who was
gathering stones

a week ago
and they caught fire

in her pocket.
The sun is

just right
above them.

The sheep-shorn moon
is above them

in the blue sky.
Both are.

The prevalence
of the whites

of the gulls
around the moon

makes the moon float.
The woman feels

like a nucleus,
joyously small.

Obtuse Triangles

I could cast them in The Grapes of Wrath,

On the road
between here and there, them standing

on the road, smoking a blunt, an odd angle of a girl
in the …

Maenad

I’ve learned to learn the street by sound,
a candy wrapper snipering the gutter in a wind,
an owl faltering on the imitation belfry over the ocean.
Her tail feathers …