ant5

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it makes

a new color

the dryer lint

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under the covers

your cool hair

smells like pine

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sheaths of ice

something

thumps the roof

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dawn light

waiting by the stove

the beetle

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a new kind

of quiet that’s all

you get

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he rubs it

against my chin

the ruined side of his face

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the frog stops

barely discernible

rain blown against tin

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I think of you

they’re just my

thoughts about you

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I go back into

the room to see

what I smell like

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in a break

in the dark clouds

what might be Jupiter

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