Nothing more than a peering intelligence, I open the window to hear the surf, and the gale rushes inside. I smash the window shut but then find myself opening it halfway once more, the blast of rain from the ocean blowing my hair back and forth with the breakers. Clumps of coastal shrub flatten along the shore. Above the surf-line, grays decompensate, build, drift. My face seems to steam as it confronts the cold. My eyes blink at distant gulls, fighting for control in the winds. The ocean flings itself toward me, then pulls away, drowning me with sound. I slam it into dullness again, turn away to a heated room.
no second wave
no third wave
same wave
apart-hide
relief
in separation
with a bird
no telling -
male or female?
how silly
sex looks
to a celibate
defending sovereignty
so much effort
I forget to make tea
defendant, I please no one -
is there something
to the indictment?
half-open window
in a laundry room
a leg extends outward
she has always cleaned
the toilets - cooked -
ate last
steaming
her rice
grains expand, so fragrant
what women want -
a fence, privacy
and flowing water
to open -
when energy
is not war
