Faulkner County reeks of burning leaves;
other days, smelt from the refinery.
A whiff of manure when the breeze
turns just right. All seasons, this air
is heavy with rainwater: …

Tuesday feels like every day, so today is every Tuesday.
This goddamn day won’t goddamn change
my going back and forth between the sure and doubt,
the front door opening …

It must be their feet tangled past the hem of the blanket
(a big toe pressed to the top of a pale, carved foot)
that make me pause, scroll back …

The wind had to do with the places we couldn’t touch.
The branches were the places we did,
lying at the roots
with your arms around me. We watched the …

If every life is four dimensional,
if your “now” is just one segment of your whole
and your body spans across the surface of time,
then I could trace the …