Around here you can wear clothes or not,
sit in hot water all day, or cold.  You don't
have to talk, but if you want to you can

kiss.  But only if you want to and so does he. 
It's quiet here, too.  Even the construction
workers hammer softly and cars hum rather

than roar. Four wild turkeys foray in the grass 
wearing blue black alabaster.  Woodpeckers caps 
flash red among laurel leaves growing wild,

splashing spice along the path.  But there is one
trouble maker who leaves his car running for half a day
and travels back and forth revving the motor.

Why do you have to keep revving it, I ask.
But he is naked and tries to ignore me.  Finally 
after several more inquiries, he walks backwards 
and screams: "To charge the battery!"

Finding the Chipped Bowl While Moving

i.
Where did you get the rice bowl 
with the chipped rim?  Remember? 
During the cherry blossoms.  The girl with black 
hair gave me a present.  Which girl?  They all 
had black hair.    Who?  Who was it? 

ii.
What was it you wanted when you bought the black bowl, 
layers of lacquer trimmed in shimmering gold? 
How did it feel when you first held it in your hands?

iii.
Black heart stone with white stripe 
sits in the rice bowl with the chipped rim. 
Once, salted water and lavender too.  Remember? 
The gloved hand.  The bird flew from parted palms. 

Death Mask

What keeps me here
behind clay and green
jade.  It is the sea. 
The harvest.  How can death
confine me when you 
live in the vaulted skull.

Who said it is final.
What makes you think
we will meet in heaven.

 I am here
 behind these
 precious stones
 behind these glass
 eyes

I am bone
and hair,
decay.
Logging chains
banging across 
the heart.