I do not remember calling for you

but you heard me anyway, come
come meet me in the vacant lot down
down down where paper flowers
hang, sun-faded in latched windows
their insides facing, blue

working the room like royalty

something about crowns
and jewels
and the ease with which you place them
into our metal fingered settings

we touch hems
catch moondogs
we sway on heel spikes
wait our turn

this artist, empty plates

she swallowed Wallace Stevens
but could only cough up seven blackbirds

pie or no pie
we still count gold
teased with honey
pull feathers for the tar baby decoy
she said she said she said
this will only hurt
if you can feel it

cabin 2
secret get-away
for those like us
who need to get a
way to forget

dearest Three, I am sorry
but Two cannot come to the phone
please try again later

she paints four boat tail grackles
they strut by, eye us up
looking for the one who is going to pay:
he is she is they are
always the next in line
for the crown

our five year old reveals:
the legend of how crow got her rainbow feathers
is actually the legend
of how she lost them

VI.
because you are a perfect number
I will give you this verse properly labeled

you who divides by two or three
with equal ease
what is better
than a table
set for six?

seven, seven
seventy-seven
your extra syllables
tripped up our elementary rhythms
like January and February
like the step you missed
at the bottom of the landing
expecting something more

Yarn Puppet

The saleswoman shows me where
the clear fishing wire
comes unattached here
and here for when the lines become tangled.

Funny, I have been pulling our wires
for years, unable to find a loose end.
I do not even remember how we started
but I do remember the shirt I bought
when we first met. The black clingy one
with a silver ring at the neck.
In the dressing room
I felt sexy again
as I slid my hands
down my waist as if they were yours,
over my hips, up across my breasts.

We promised: no edges,
let the weeds grow
over the walk. We promised:
no ties or knots. No wonder
I have yet to be able to weave our story.
Unpackaged, without instructions,
without a marketing plot, no tangle free dancing,
some kind of endless braid.