when i wrote this i was thinking there must be a time when a day and a lifetime are interchangeable. that is, life gets to a point that in one rising and setting it can parallel the rising and setting of an entire life. this is what that day looks like to me...

feet hooked over the foot of the bed
and knees like kissing flamingo legs
an ear in the crook of red wine and
spanish dancers

grapefruit spoons and roots
of a tree on notebook paper
fill blanks on unfinished
lists like
ruby raindrops
crushed
between lip and steel

a hand on weight meant for motherhood
made of afternoon naps and
warm milk silence
makes promises through translucent skin
like an owls wings on snow

french flea market wallpaper lit by
the barbizon muse and terracotta
dinners on mismatched plates
with little fingers wrapped around
a sturdy, callused thumb

behind falling night and candle dimmed
windows sigh green eyes
the lines etched near mouths and brows
count the time in grey