Protect these people,
Mr. Vonnegut would say,
just trying to be.

Alone, in a dream,
setting the downside aside,
coming out alive.

Smoothing the edges,
the softness of memory—
heartbreaks are less sharp.

For the forlorn day,
the bees buzzing in your head—
unholdable joy.

-for Sylvia Plath

Gray squirrels whisper
in the ear of soft lichens
in early morning.

Many moons ago
blue night came into my yard,
fooled, I was waiting.

These dark passageways
lead to dark hiding places
inside my own heart.