sunsets are starting to look Pacific coast again
pink light lengthening its reach
as clouds become incarnations of stampeding horses

(apocalyptic if that is your orientation)

the crown of flowers was her own creation
made from remnants of first-date napkins
forming a graceful relationship to reciprocity

those echoes found delayed in repressed rhythms
where she returns to these kinds of questions
as murmurations as stimulations as exchanges

(our intimacies measured by exhale)

she dreamt in currency, in time
scaling up as undoing: euphoric
this consecration mine and yours