Why work with clouds that dry?
What day longs
to unchange?
Let your clouds layer
and rearrange. If you pick them out,
they end up feeling all the same.

He’s up
and left me.
Sighs escape—
the soft seeds
cottonwoods make.
Already, I’ve mistaken
the date,
given whole days
alone away.

Hang new leaves
against the sky, tempt
the breeze astray, offer us
monarch butterflies,
but we are passing
to the sea
and cannot stay.
Shoulder the coast
along our cove.
We’ll stick to your shade
on the salt-walk home.