singing to my mother
the songs she taught me—
inside the rose hip the next rose
*
dancing in separate kitchens
together—
the red handled pans get hot
*
in the stairwell
beneath O’Keefe’s clouds—
an unexpected rain
*
what she’ll do next—
a secret even she
doesn’t know
*
reattaching the wing
on the stone crane—
longing for glue for the soul
*
unable to keep
it all together—
anything can happen now
*
my thoughts going 65
in a 30—
the red light left in the dust
*
all these cracks
where certainty can’t go—
tenderness puts down tap roots