recent poems

House Crows

Your house is a description of crows

when I arrive, I am sat in the straw bales and given paper matches and before we can bring life, fire it is water, water on the floor.
Your hair tangles the drain, tidal pools form.

Your house is a lake of water

in the evening, I cannot sleep, I fold my oars across your skin.
If you were to take part in the water,
I would visit you as an elephant.
I would remember my blue wading pool
for hours as a child in the hot sun.

In the evening I cannot sleep
I build choir white arcs of sky, I build Saturn—

In my dreams of the river,
I meet families walking parapets,

on the wharves, wearing scarves, telling me of salt flats, ahead, North.

I have been drying
I climb to her knees
I let flies seek salt in the cracks of my hands.

When I arrive
I will visit you as an elephant.

tom blood

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