Thea Brown

FAST HORSE

A laughing face, taffy by the campfire, your foot a
gopher to my wolf of a cough. Phones up, farm
fresh, I file my alphabet safely through
headphones, fast falling trophies from unfolding
traffic. Fork, then feather. How coffee defends the
office fire, me high-fiving all four goldfinches along
the factory wire. Fifty-four fingerprints, feverish
and fairly famous, confidential. My belief, a
weatherproof autograph, a fast horse.

YOU, AT ANY MOMENT

Baking soda, bubbling paste, and you there

                The salt becomes itself at any moment

Your time comes back to you like a goldfinch

                At any moment, mist creeps across the bedspread

Mittens lining the reservoir’s wall, yours missing

                My carpenter, at any moment, I’ve something for you to repair

Another ended collection, you remind me

                At any moment, bells release us

You gently pouring vinegar down the sink, refill the salt cellar

                From any moment, at a pause, pop a grape

Your connection to the underworld is a damp garage

Agape, your ice shelf, moment to moment

Silver magnolias that won’t bloom around you

                At any moment, a wreath of pine boughs and flowers

So a pinprick stalls you

So you credit me a kiss

So you position your own collection along the sill

Channel your energy into interfacing breezes

                Wax drips, at every moment, blue

Strung from the ocean’s ending, you, mottled

                At any moment, docked hope

Soapy, and you, are you

AT THE MOVIES

Your depth of field falters

You recall your bath

Luxuriant, herbaceous, horticultural

A gyroscope directs the symphony

You miss while asleep

The glimmer light you balance on

Your nose turns cold, unlighted beacon

So far back to unbend the sail

Set the rocket straight and up

The moral of the story is you’ve given up

Watching, you play chess with no care

Not sacrificing so much as composing a path

Like dancing though a field of snakes, elegance all slithery

When all is said and done, many lands become the sea

Then oaken, then vegetation

Then a series of randomly generated numbers

Go ahead, put out all the fires

See if they still spin their cold red colors

Down an empty night street

A never-ending, dead undying

Ever-living, persistent

Deadly undeadly

Image of an eyelash, a pixel 

Now it’s time to pick what works

Pick what’s beautiful