Swivel, Rowena, in your dark leather. Olayinka
and I live on air alone. We watch our warm

breaths mingle and evaporate. Zero equals
dry. Dry can’t be divided by. And fling your red

hair. Esteban and Desmond fished for perch
through ice holes at Devil’s Lake. Esteban

brought up a shaved head with a mustache. Des-
mond said he’d been hacked with a machete.

Beatrix, please find us real estate to lease and bless.
I didn’t get the job I wanted, a sitting job,

selling tickets at the foreign movie theater.
Now I’m seeking a promise, a science, a feeling,

a history. Sterling in Roane County figures
he’ll harvest two full acres of day lilies, despite

his bursitis. The winter is dry, Rowena, outside and in.
At our old house, while I was baking apple pies,

Olayinka told me to touch my finger to my cheek
whenever I burn it. Turn, Estaban, to pharmacy.

Once at our hotel room we found a strange
suitcase in the closet. The room was blue.

Desmond said this winter wasn’t sorcerous.
A café thumped below us all night. Beatrix rode

in a side-car while her soul drove a quiet Kawasaki
through modest neighborhoods. _Pivot, rugged
_
_Rowena. Thrive, my dear Sterling. Release us.
_ After two wrong turns they were quite cold.