ant5

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asleep in a chair

my wife moves her fingers

like a catcher

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edge of the pond

camellias that fell

without opening

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in the charred clearing

no burnt

path in

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he says

the dog’s only friendly

if you touch her

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soon I will be

seventy

percent clouds

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floating pine needles

and gold seed cones

catch the sunlight

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pine needles

arranged in bundles

for ants to cross

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thrift store

I see that guy

who went to prison

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factory

white smoke rips holes

in the low gray clouds

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from the steam

the holes in the shaker

crusted with salt

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