I

Do not forget our salmonberries,
please do never forget.
Seems like that morning
but early instead of super-duper early
we had a whole bunch of hunger for breakfast
instead of little fruits and breads and chilaquiles
and we hungered tons of non-paroled sleep.

Noon was not a very long one for a summer.
Brunch was not as silly
as veggies with no meat, or meat with no veggies,
or fetish-shaped doughnuts.

Sometimes calm is not come when I’m tired
but when my tummy hurts,
and then it goes away.
Sometimes calm is not truthful
but bullshit.

In the night, they talked about
red round raspberries
in a placid hour of blabber,
portent of decay.
Sleep was come lawless.

Do not forget our salmonberries,
please, do never forget.

II

Yours is the name of a serpent god,
airborne and with antlers,
and your voice is a peerless shade of coarse and deep.
No mountain stream
or rainy mount
would rival it.

III

There’s a thing in you invisible,
there’s a thing in you that sounds like water
there’s a thing in you maniacal,
there’s a thing in you that dreams like fish,
there’s a thing in you mundane,
there’s a thing in you lucid.

There’s a thing in you that cleanses.
There’s a thing in you that damns me.
There’s a thing in you that dazzles me when I don’t see it
and when I see it, it dazzles me twice as much.
There’s a thing in you lavender and invisible.
There’s a thing in you that slides about
graciously
like a white walrus:
“Moo, moo.”


Redmond, 2013