Thin, vinegar-sauce tang calls us / to our seats like somnambulists. / Our fever-dreams are burnt ends, / collard greens, sliced white bread.”

“promising herself—next time—a thimble, as the blood / ran down into a starched cuff. Mostly,”

“I juggle them constellating a colony”

“It bothers me to no end that patience, like all virtues, takes time to cultivate. So, to pass the time, I read and hope to learn something. I read about Galileo. “