Field mouse flattened on bike trail, its feet the only parts that still look mouse.

Today strangers know me better than I know myself—isn’t that odd.

Eyebrow hairs grow in one at a time, recovering what’s been plucked clean.

Nine trillion fifty-two billion three hundred ninety-four million plus.

I find a foothold on your calf and pretend I’m climbing a mountain.

Hotel: The room is smaller than I’d like, especially with him here.

I remain in the water until my body thinks it is water.

I lean over an insect and it goes skittering toward the light.

Today the sun is out: no doubt hiding from it will prove difficult.

In my dream I married everyone I’ve dated and loved all but one.