listless (an upright life)

you wrote me
to say
you are “listless”

so i did the only
thing i could—
i made you this list. . .


is it order
that you need—
to arrange this or that
every item sacred

as i shape these words
into poetry
to fill this space—
less than everything

but more than nothing?


you pull me

as the moon the waves
as the tide a ship

to one side—you
my magnetic north

i can tell you this—
there is no joy

in an upright life


i am no carpenter
no tailor or farmer

but if it is framing you need
to adjust this picture of your life

i am bound to offer furrows
left by my fingers

ground carved and treasured
where your feet brush grass

whispering kindness


the universe is humming
the fabric softly rubbing together

wisping and shushing—calling
to anyone who will listen

to anyone who can hear
the soft and silent momentum lifting

where we dance eyes closed



what have your bones chosen?

what wish winds your blood
through your veins day and night?

can numbered things
ignite these embers of craving

that i offer to you with my mouth

rapt like paper smoldering?

because my list is always you

every item numbered one