1.
We must wear: something
from a first haircut,
something almost ball
lightning, something evil
eye, something returned empty
at midnight

2.
The heart should be an empty rocking
chair, pointed infinitely near
as diamonds

3.
We remember good
glitter protects the house
from cold, wet
crickets

4.
To sit

with a high
wish
laces an albatross across
the mind

5.
We sway true at the window,
despite the open sky’s
furtive shiver

6.
We float
face down above reproach,
ornamental
as an opal makes a happy grave

7.
We rub gold young and some-
where a spoon reflects
the pure pond bottom

8.
Our nails make a parcel appearance,
like the borrowed ears of new company.

9.
We smell a warm, forked cure
rendered from the gall
of public society

10.
We will bring you a bone
and pull it clean as the veil
when a dog howls

11.
We wish out of the bow,
to a ribbons shadow passing
over the water

12.
We blow out death
to baby’s breath—
the art of rain entertaining
dandelions

13.
We are over gold
luck, and vampires
on birthday cake
or open-mouthed insistence
on a wish under clover

I make sure to netti pot
before “consulting the oracle”

as I call it. The truth is chanting
but not to be abused—medicine

remains a remedy. I’m pretty
vain, but who wants to eat waffles

in front of a mirror? Some people
can chew steel and come to work

the next morning. I lift my teeth
to Peggy Bundy, smoking turkey

dinner, though TV isn’t a sitcom
anymore and leaving a family is why

I don’t try.