high wind

the fennel has fallen

across the viola

 house work

i’ve started so

i’ll fetish

 social media

every cat is named

click bait 

 and there you are

saddled with it forever 

riding it into a receding 

 Trump

our belief is on hold

interminably 

 on the road of life

there are many hostels

rest easy at each one

 breaking news we are broken

 big kids

i can throw the furthest 

memories

 asleep fast thoughts

awake fast thoughts

the long slow tunnel

 unruly air

the mountain pines fail

to comb the clouds

 crying with the gulls

on the west wind’s shoulder

i am blown away 

 barley sugar

the sun twists our evening 

hand in hand