ONE AND REST BUT HOPEFULLY NOT THE REST. Sean Thibodeau

Want in my chest again
nose filled with string

night phlox opens
what time dinner

wires drifting poles
trees’ pomade cut wide

the alder, the ash, the elm
not the maple, the maple’s

too short. The sound of a tow truck
idling.

What dreams are lowered
by each landing airplane?

When I die I’ll be buried
in plastic.

Lord, there’s enough.