Not-so-regal on the half-couch 

Feed me grapes 

Amongst sun-bleached pillars 

Pay attention to the summer freckles on my nose 

Please, not the fires in my eyes. 

Study me like art 

Please, miss the mark. 


Assign me anything but me. 


The room is actually quite dim 

I’m sure a sunset is brewing outside. 

Beside me, a blazing arch of light. 

Around my room, a thousand rocks I’ve collected 

They’re familiar, and warm. 

Don’t mind the weight, please 



Deep into the threads and fabrics 

I never learned how to sew 

Please, weave me, knit me—I am the thread 

Form me 

Into the power lines stretching outside 

Into the red-toned leaves, 

or the green ones, just across the street maybe. 

Into infinite roads, into slippery gravel on a hill 

Into the fern, the snail, the water. 

Weave me into these curtains 

Into that merciless pillow. 

Into dirt, and slush, and the salt in the ocean. 

Into that raven, just over there, into the driftwood washed ashore and the rattlesnake under the ground. 

Knit me into time—maybe I’ll finally understand it—into the crumpled five-dollar bill for the vending machine. 

The cacti, the venom, the marshes, the owl. 

The blazing and scorching fire, the ember, the spark. 

Into harsh metal, into forgiving sand. 

I hope I won’t mind. 


What we know is what we see. 

What do I know? 

What do I see? 


I’ve turned around 

On that marbled couch. 

The museum is ruined. 


But now I can see 

It was golden for a moment or five 

A wash sprayed on the leaves, the breeze, the wood, the air. 

Now a cloud has covered the sunset. 

Eat some grapes 

The powerlines, the trees, the leaves – maybe you’ll see the gold come back. 

But from where I lie 

Here and now 

It is still so beautiful.