inverse twin, lost sister I.               Like our dead, you live in memory: our grandmother’s clouded eyes               saw you instead of me. In the cold,                             my bones still ache along…

I am thankful for the acres in the inchesa poem makes on the page of its saying.Like in this one, there is a large meadowwith a long table in the middle of it,and seated at the table, every friendand ancestor I could ever invoketurns their faces to me and mouths the wordsof a pop song…

beautiful things lived here.That small boned bird that glowed in the understory.That big wide mushroom that was underneath us that whole time.That elm the autumn of the drought when the leaves fell before they changed.I stood under a field of green on a field of green on a field of green.I understood then. There is…