Monday, Oct 24, 2011
Pull red handle down and hold
while pushing
window out at bottom.

A hawk cries out across
Lake Washington—
I lost my train of thought.
The tail on the three-legged dog
goes around and around
and around and around and around.
It’s Monday.
Slither down the greasy pipe.
So far, so good; no one saw you.
Moments never pass.
We exist in all of them at once,
forever, never-ending.
The rain slips aimlessly like
loving fingertips over my eyes,
my ears, my cheeks, my lips.
I would bathe in a raincloud.
I would chase the sun,
race it to the other coast.