On your morning drive, do you remember the heart
break & the one thousand other indignities
suffered right on that same bad luck road?  I do
but only some days.  Some days my head goes driving
down the midnight streets of a world that welcomed it,
or at least didn’t care.  Your wife’s hand rests
on your shoulder each morning to keep you in tact,
maybe.  March is blooming here like a bloom.

                –Nate

Nothing says full-on morning better than that first short burst
of second-hand smoke caught as you quickly pass
some unknown someone & the flowering bushes quiver
& the spare sunlight!  Each moment is really a billion
moments all begging to happen.

                —Nate

It is right now the afternoon &, listen, outside the sun
is so big & real & present & yellow that I have desperate need
for you & your open heart, the way you would know
exactly what to say.  You would call the sun “sun”
but it would mean something!  I have the kind of headache
only coffee can cure or cause.  Do you see yet?  O
the limitlessness of this!  O!  You are the flowers
marching up my backbone, yes, to explode loudly in my head.

                —Nate