Kestrel: three poems

conditions under which everything might be different

if i were a key. if men were not quiet, exactly, 
but still. if something small named sacred stayed 
by my side. if i knew holier eras like a friend, 
a crane, a coconut. what i split open could heal. 
if time was not a cosmonaut. not nationed. 
unappointed, slivered infinitely into reunion. 
i would unearth a softer blade, cut tunnels 
in dead wood. count every lizard. lose sleep 
to see the sun rise over a very old catastrophe, 
say what i mean: dear father, cousin, beloved, 
still living. wake up on a wetland, bleating.

---

going west

it's easier than 
it looks. we drove 
into the sun 
three days 

before heaven.

if there isn't a god 
you couldn't tell.

---

when i die, which i will, some instructions

here's what i want is more music, okay? 

silk strings of found sound braided in space.
when a low hum hits the root—let me ask you
one question. let me sing you two songs. 

we won’t need much math, maybe figs. 
a handful of cashews, a jar of late delphinium,
& me? i will bring my best slippers. 

we will never be the emperor, but always 
this alive somehow & mercifully, always 
changing. i will rot one thousand times, 
feed what feeds me & anyone who asks. 

i have no use for hunger. come. 
bring me my knife.

originally published in Kestrel, Issue 51, Summer 2024 / “conditions under which everything might be different” featured in Verse Daily, January 2025