1
Here we fell among it, the cursed lawn

dappled day: my Voltaren gel caps askew

Medjool pit in the Spanish crown teacup
Cursed in the sense of all lawns – unnatural

monoculture, a steep price for your desires above

the rest (pollinators, winged ones)
2
We’re in surplus, sprouted mung beans

I’m on a single leg and turning eastwards

colliding at the sky, a pond or hearing the old life
They call it keeping your balance, I call it switching

swapping a tiny blacksmith’s hammer

on a neck for the enclosed, the erupted, on 20th
3
You watch this spot, the one where I poured

luminous coffee, we discussed the voltage of inter

generational junctions, the past always
contained the object (yours, a pierced-hole lobe)
Mine, a deep gut lurch. I mean, a hook inside but welcomed

digging pits, reaching over state borders

tectonic shifts for the new world
     (not a new world at all but we’ll learn the shame, for Leopardi)
4
I’m calling it: we’ll walk the rest of the way. You told me

how it’s made, but I stuff my face with mountain spinach

all the same. I haven’t worked out this next bit, the cast off
    they call it 
                               (the fisherman’s

                                                knitting bible)