Leslie Seldin 
		
		
			The Forest Spins With Us On a Planet
		
		
			The forest spins with us 
			on a planet. We are both 
			dizzy for water. 
			
			Not everybody is everybody’s 
			cup of tea. Forests can be needy
			until it's too much and no one cares.
			
			We pat the bark and feel closer.
		
	
  	 
	
		
			Far Outside a Snug Order
		
		
			Turtles stretch themselves 
			
			Far outside their ken.
			
			You see them watching you
			
			watching them, their shells
			
			several little hands wide. 
			
			Animal fingerprints are everywhere.
			
			Imagine your torso set free.  
			
			The sky and its usual cycles. 
			
			Bruised days opened, then released.
		
	
  	 
 
	
		
			Under Sky
		
		
			Under sky rain makes itself
			into more rain. Every minute more dark seeds. 
			
			Rain can be itself and 
			leave us dry. Our bodies move closer 
			
			but we forget how. My body
			is a floating frame I can’t control. 
			
			Under a rug our history accumulates.
			
			Two of us as one together alone. 
			The morning is cold. 
			
			Red and pink blooms on bushes 
			shiver and salamanders mysteriously disappear.
			
			Something
			hidden underground that emerges too soon. 
			
			It takes several errors to kill it.
		
	
  	 
 
	
		
			We Are Kindred
		
		
			I look at my boss and his sad eyes and I see love in there. 
			Not an easy love. A dark Scandinavian love that cries 
			real tears nothing to do with me. We are kindred, 
			drinking water chilled from a cooler. We stand 
			like two tall birds, weary yet kind in a pale landscape. 
			
			I wear purple from Goodwill. Purple, a regal color. 
			I make eye contact with no one. 
			
			I go home and reign over my shredder 
			an insatiable box that feeds on my black words.
			
			Sometimes a person can wear purple and speak quietly. 
			Sometimes a bird can just fly away. Also love can die soon 
			without ever knowing what it knows is so little. 
		
	
  	 
 
	
		
			They Do Not Stop Their Boisterous Pleasure
		
		
			The pigeons on my windowsill are courting.
			They dance in circles. Their circles grow bigger. 
			
			They move so fast.
			
			I am cowed. My body is a bag. I want the clouds and pigeons 
			under my thumb. 
			
			I am a drunken 
			suitor so needy and suitable. The moaning 
			
			unhinges my human dreams inside my small bird 
			body. I know how shaky a landscape can be. 
			
			How ground 
			can slip away and clouds follow.