Eve Rounds

the fortune teller

a welcome humidity breaks through the seal of my skin
seeps into my soul
an onoff drizzle revives the resilience of my muscles
releases their restlessness

and off i go into the gray of focused conscious meditation

allowing dark ones to escape without a fight
the light arrives in torrents
the mirrors reflect an expansion of bright saturation
a self manifested destiny

aware only of my favorites
i can see now the words in poignant conversations of the distant future
i can hear now the thoughts of us as we grow older in wiser in happier
i am my own fortune teller
and fortunate
will be
and fortunate
am

but ok but

write some poems that i can give him ok (but they’ll all be about the hims) good idea bad idea no good twinning and losing

a 5 7 5 for e

peering through thick glass your back to me is waiting any news at all? running down broad steps into your brotherly arms crying without breath!

incircles

is it the ticking of the third hand or the faucet dripping onto discount bulk blueberries both measuring time “going in circles” as he would

a poem about you for you (and you)

you are your own though your temperament reminds me of him your head is more ripe mango while his was more soft plum my love

i don’t even know

how long it’s been. haven’t been counting days haven’t counted backwards on the calendar. haven’t bothered to reread my own words. haven’t been missing you

the five senses

your blue eyes and crooked lippy smile which i inherited that tiny soft bristle brush for your basically bald head the white corvette a campfire cards