Haymaking
The farmstead was tucked away like a child
in sheets of gently rolling Samogitian land:
tufts of deciduous trees, the occasional stand
of pine, long stretches of rape and rye rounded
by the odd dairy cow fertilizing the ground.
Baghdad, Mon Amour
You cannot be crucified
On the side of a page
Of a story that is not your own,
Nor to the rhythm of the deaths that brood your plagues
Because there will be no cry to relieve your grief.
Welcome to My Dating Profile, Please Come Inside
In this photo of me air kissing a mural
you will find the living room.
Look at those curves and high ceilings.
I do not have a lifelong disease.
A Skeptic’s Guide to Relationship Science
I know Deb’s notebook is full of to-dos for me, all dated, some starred in red pen. There are too few checked off. I tap my fingertips, one by one, feather-light on the small of her back.