Her Hazel eyes. Like brownies to the tooth fairy■ #VSS365

They stand under a tree, listen to the rain pummelling the earlier stillness of the lake. He steps out of his jeans. Naked, he jumps into the lake. Come, he says, arms splayed. On the jetty, they kiss. He touches her breasts the way one removes ripe fruit from a tree■ #VSS365

Is the womb like a moon full-term? At birth, Is it the ladle of life? And this slow death, I hear only the abjection of time gathering like dust■ #VSS365

She listens like a storm, knows where to go. Found you, she sings, goes away like rain. Her lips upon my lips. The greatest possession of my mind. Jovial. But then she cried, her shoulders fell and rose like the ocean. Her arms moved like the boughs of an oak in wind. #VSS365

They were six. The girl and the boy. The boy's father built his son a treehouse. Otto, the boy, loved Aurora, the girl. All day, they sat inside the treehouse. Outside, said the girl, there is a pungency I do not like. The boy took her hand and read to her some Heaney■#VSS365

She— has picket-fence teeth and blueberry lips they say she will arise now— go with the clouds to where dead people go vis-à-vis— i ask her for a chance to love her to be loved by her nous étions des enfants— alors we are old now still— sunflowers to the sun nodding■ #VSS365

Her dandelion hair blowing in the wind orchard of memories set seed in me she took to her bed took sips like a wallclock and i wished her to bloom but she passed through the doorway in a pine overcoat a presentation for death roses fell like rain were broken by earth■ #VSS365

Our love you and me— a driftwood that did not make it to the doorway of the sea■ #VSS365

Call me Tutus. Or Too-toos. The people did. The ones who took me from the sea as if I were Moses. The ones that took me into their home, washed and dressed me, took me to Bearable to buy me a plush bear, put me to bed that night with the sloth bear I had named Éirinn■ #VSS365

I ran to you. Of course, I didn't, but almost. I would run to you, now. Quick as rifle powder. A hundred horse-power, I would run through the thicket of exhaustion. I feel it all. The blunted goings-on of the wheelhouse in my chest. Beyond the horizon. Echo and fall■ #vss365

I look to the moon always— wonder is it the helmet of a lost scientist exhausted from it all. Even— is it the pale belly of a mountain? I wonder■ #VSS365

The men buried pints before going to the dancehall. The showband was already in full swing. After one of them muttered, I will never get tired of this lobstering, Pat Murphy let out a gravelly laugh, their eyes drifting toward the clutch of women, potential and promise■ #VSS365

WHEN HE opened the door, she was holding her black patent shoes. Under her white tights, her nails were red. She said, A raindrop landed in the valley of my hand. How far do you think it has fallen? Meanwhile, the man on TV spoke urgently, reporting a local catastrophe■ #VSS365

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In her greyish-green bonnet all acorn and cupule our girl pink tongue pricking the very air over there— resting in Tilia a heron cloaked in a Mackintosh raincoat into your arms— they handed to you our girl a field of poppies until she blinked new light awake soft dew■ #VSS365

Hold my hand. You said. I was already holding your hand. Atomic. The beat in my chest. The moon was on your lips. The moon was on the mountaintop. Our footfall made slush of the snow. The sun was rising. I kissed all of your mouth. You are my orchard. My love. I said■ #VSS365

In her bed, she thinks about the funny shapes their noses make when they kiss. She thinks about his noble hands touching her like literature. She thinks about her body opening like a rosebud to swallow the light. She thinks about the scent they will make, saucer and cup■ #VSS365

The man put out his hands. They were like two fallen leaves. I heard the word change. I did not give him money. If you want change, I will offer you a job, I said. Later, the man showed up, said, Is this an experiment? He worked his way up. Last week, we were married■ #VSS365

Without you It is always rutting season And for that I am forever bolving You may think of me as some wild creature And that'll do How i miss our domestication All around me Horned memories clashing As hinds look on I think of you being the one to walk away with Now■ #VSS365

Nebulae are the birthplace of stars. Both the land and the ocean make stars. Plants make leaves. Animals and words make me happy. The sun makes light. Darkness is the absence of light. Is fame but a capricious muse? No— I will not be famous for writing such things■ #VSS365