SUNDAY

after eons of 

slanted rain

the table is covered in light

the ants return

my brother’s toy piano

the boots I have not worn

Dolly Parton’s voice floating 

from a small speaker 

downstairs 

the world can be so 

forgiving sometimes 

radiator prayer

bowl of steam

cupped air above skin

preserving salt for 

punch hole desire 

of days

to come