WHITES VALLEY
Some hillroll holds procliving Walls of puffy slats of barn A crank will unroll blue glass On your side of the truck The moon stares small not Large by all your means the Moon sees weakly now The same sun cashed In bars on Mama’s neck So long in reach to smooth The apples in your calves And calves slow heavy on The plaingrass rolled up hills Holding nails of barns and Tales of family lives and clocks And every passing away hound Each pink birthday party Dress and all the halves of Oranges pressed for juice I will poor and pour for you
IDAHO
sprayed crops in spring ground warming up so pregnant tumbleweed bush when a broken nose sleeps so far away dust breath through the vent from the tire this dirt not barren bore the one i love and when home arrives in final she grows light in her eyes and in her summer bodies freckled from sunshine plenty on her face a glow becomes it lantern glow a bulb glows apple of the earth song of the dance my world my light my glow come to me
