Here, a thin silk canopy,
avenues where orange blossoms bruise
under sun. We sit in the courtyard, distant
after Kaveh Akbar
in the shrine i build for you
my mother looks down
at the five bouquets pinning her
wedding gown to an oxblood carpet,
Ctrl + a
identifies your footing in this place.
The soles of your shoes rolling
over gravel. The rain smell
of the chaparral on your legs.
Fill my basket with the quiet blazing of the hills
at sunrise, and with the whispering blackberry bush.
There is nothing more silent above me than the figs
warming in the air suspended by a branch.
The pear tree fell last night in a storm. Now red pears
Our new
mutual friend
called the two
of us faggots
in public
outdoors
by the pizza shop
on the street
outside the pizzeria
in the open air—
After dinner, I decide to upload my mind
to the virtual world where life is eternal,
living is free, and people are kind. But like
cilantro, virtual living starts to brown as soon
as picked. I’m already missing what I left
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