Fresca’s got a new look
but I’m not drinking
that. My coke
struck the ice
and the ice
cube cracked.
I’m sitting by the little
Buddha
who is sitting in 
my yard. I imagine
you walking in
gasping at the 
same couch
the same bed
it’s almost 
the same
town but this is
what I meant
and there’s
so much pleasure,
difference in
this, that. I meant
to be here. One
sleeps on what
they mean
and arises on the decided
side and that’s 
the hope. An entire
room is opened
by particular feelings
that say you’re
on the edge
of the space
and then you
wait to watch
it grow. Grow
like a love
or a feeling of distrust
or a body grateful
for sun & breeze
and the rising and
falling of my dog’s
chest no gut.
The little Buddha’s
smiling southeast
I figured that
out. Their
genitals are
unknown in fact
their everything’s
smiling walked on
by ants planted
in the dirt
but not dead
activated by my
gaze. Their smiling
makes me glad
dog turns Buddha’s
way I go
forward with con
fidence I
may turn nothing
up but this
gentle scratching
in my yard
before making
a call opening
the self
somehow so it’s
possible to
have a friend
to call
not only from
need but interest
in their life
the body I’m
pouring into
joyous to be
connected
to someone
while covered
by ants surrounded
by breeze
actually touched
by birds
their sound
then landing
there is nothing
romantic
in their 
absence
the bird
is all touch
no matter
how distant
their flight
the sky is open
my gaze is
wide it matters
how they
dive and
hover. The silly