WHIDBEY

From the sauna while the war planes

practice twirls over the Salish Sea

can’t tell sweat from 

ordinary condensation

what is coming out from within me 

versus what was already there

overheating  on purpose

I’d like to feel the feeling of 

there being no difference 

the war planes slice the night

the moon hums forgiveness

jets=jobs, my moon is mine

my mom is alive, this island 
only plays flower-power fm

was that revolution or
were you just having fun

my brother snort sobbed 

into the carpet, my blood 

is fickle but not giving up

I found a chip of driftwood today

a perfect flag, a stamp

I have an emblem now

a brand to press into 

this warming flesh