beads   there’s the pull and the doubt the hight tide of wanting to leave and the low tide of wishing to stay there’s the hours as beads pushing against each other  their weight against your skin and the nearly painful pleasure  wearing them to bare oneself, in time becoming  your bow

beads   pinõn and blue jay ants and rabbits  are visiting this morning  they’re there before you open your eyes when you do their desert fragrance lingers  as a thoughtful gift from friends recognizing  your flickering attention, your childish wailing as plain  homesickness;    beads of sap slowly solidifying   dripping from your branches 

beads   these are the last days before work close in these are the days before being confined again what will you do? —what did you do as it all turned upside down work evaporate and confinement inverts  with ambulances sailing our vacant streets birds singing them onwards, towards the water the whale’s mouth waiting wide open at the  harbor swallowing hundreds a day her eye, a dark bead  of glowing maternal recognition as she bless their return and grants them her quieting