Ohara Hale

EMPTY ANYTHING

time to time
I slip away and open the tiny shell
locketed in my palm
the interior is lined with complex etchings
intersecting like strontianite galaxies
sectors blur so that the lines stain fuzzy
to the Correction of Nothing

black, yes, completely
I press my lips and kiss the tiny empty anything
black, yes, completely
I press my lips and kiss the tiny anything

THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE HOME

I’m learning how to become:
normal

We transform
like rare jungle orchids that wilt and black at the touch
to fields of wheat in abundance
so our love can be harvested

So I bruised my altar, burnt my wings and
filled my belly with toast
my face with flesh
lips and the local market and
pillows shaped like you

This second life
is much like the first
except the glasses are clean
and I can hear the sound of
leaves breaking

Back and forth, Dorthy :
we are always traveling from one
beat to the next, pressing two fingers
against neck for the red

THE DARK

I forgot about a lot of things
while thinking of

I forgot how the light moves
across the room

without

and it was just the dark
and (you and) the dark
and (me and) the dark, too

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