by night & my datura
blooms again in spite of punishing winds
pale locoweed filled with milky poison,
persisting even though light diminishes
and must we shrink to fit this new harshness?
Still eighteen hours until I see you. The wind
circles this house and moves on. The house
turns away from the light. I put a rectangle
of dark chocolate on my tongue and called you
because I couldn’t wait, got the machine,
your cool voice, all your beautiful