Sitting calf raise. In the midst of a sentence, I pause to admire the gesticulation within grammar. That burning gut feeling when you have to shit. In the dream, the baby's no larger than my little finger, but it falls before I can catch it, head breaking off, as round and hollow and small as a raspberry. Packing for a long weekend is harder than moving because you have to decide what not to take.
Black smoke pours up over the delta, smearing south.
By the roadside, what remains of a deer decays back to the bone. Jays and tanagers and crickets and of course the big slow logging trucks on the highway. Prism effect of the sun in my own eyelashes. Prism house of anguish. Biker revs up in the middle of a redwood forest.