I just want to move slowly
through the day and maybe night
when they turn the sprinklers on.
I yearn for clouds to manifest
in summer’s cerulean unfortunately
clear sky. Heaven is a patch of grass
nobody dares to walk across
because the dogs got there first.
I’d like my days to mirror
each other into infinitude. 
Too much to ask, to ooze 
smoothly along a path
I make up as I go?

Don’t tell anyone 
where we found abalone, Tom said,
guaranteeing I would write it down. 
Island named for someone
whose name meant nothing
or never named and therefore ________.
Somewhere between ________ and _________
out off the Tongass Narrows
are rocky shelves large mollusks crawl,
snails easily scooped up at low tide
if you don’t spook them. Scare them
and they mortar onto rock. The bucket fills
despite ongoing glacial movement up its sides.
Like us, they’d rather live. Beloved of seagulls,
ravens, eagles, otter, mink, they do their best
at blending, keep their moist lips –
when folded in, so like a woman’s lips – 
hidden, unkissed, secure. Tell no one 
where they are.