cupping my hands
to catch cold water
the sky---blue, gray, white, and white
gently crowded with clouds
beaming and untouchable
the faucet handle squeaks
so many drops of dew
on the sassafras assembled
reflecting bright and still
on plush green seats
the wind sounds like rain today
the moon hanging in the void
magnetic
i am the flame barely visible against the sunset
i am the dry, cracked earth and rocks
i am the snowflake far from its flock
i am the call of the cricket on the coldest summer night
and i look up and say