I know that I am alive and I try not to forget this but to stay in the space of "knowing" is difficult. today on the beach there was all this pink. K and I walked and when we turned around there was this sudden rush and it isn't knowing but feeling and in that moment it was such a relief -- it was so much easier.

How much do you need to see to know that it is human? Color washed over movement synthesized mottled over colors a hand's border against an arm or cloth all lit up jolly rancher red and green the light and static sour and the girls so shy against their bangs the young hair moving in the shabby glow that says alive.

Haunted/Hunted

It's obvious: the whole
world is haunted. Consider
the disasters and broken
spaces, how inside we're
all broken up, a soup
of bits like plastics
in the ocean currents. Nothing
is really solid, is really
whole. We're what coheres, what
we create. It's how
we care that matters.
No life truly disappears:
we gather and relate, mark
edges and measure holes.
We've traveled through all
this time, all these years.
We're what accumulates.
We're them. Over and over again.

New Year

The days are not the same though

they feel that way. It is how I seem:

see-through, like a gun can trace

a line, a way to see. Seam from eye

to wheel, to a thread that frays

and turns to ink. Edge of a hole

where a paw marks the edge

of our map. A chart of stars

for a fur bird to make a course

through blue, black -- all the hues

we love to lack. Our lack is a fence

the same shade as grass. As glass

finds an eye, the mass of fur we track

comes blue and soft to us, in scraps.