Looking

I see a flash on the water

and here—

across the lake

a boat lifting

Nick, I like your light

I wanted to tell you,

a man is mowing grass

everywhere men are cutting grass

a mountain is there

crows have stayed in the bush

the thing about distance

is it’s buoyant

something about the way

we rest our hands

and the moment empties

            thank you

the cracks in the earth

I was like you once, I was immortal

now, you’re not ready

you’re not ready

Ivanpah Valley

[something moving]

I’ve been on this bench so long, I don’t think I’ll be getting up.

I’ll just stay here

watching birds

There is a crocodile in the water

and a cormorant.

Stay on the sidewalk.

See, behind you there’s a crocodile in the lake. See, he eats a duck. Stay here. Don’t land in the water. Don’t get bit.

I’m scared!

Don’t be scared, just don’t go in.

[[But the child can’t help herself. 
She is on her way to the meadow. 
Her mother has a bright cup and now she holds the cup where she’s been holding Emma’s hand. The cup is made of silver that has a patina of bronze cream. At the base of the cup are white and grey feathers. The mother holds it as a bowl, its stem between two fingers. Inside this cup, the light is shining green.]] The woman decides to stop for a ball of rice. There is a man selling onigiri on the side of the road. This, and young coconut. Garlic beef sliced thin and grilled over coals, the meat turning.

The woman sits down on a plastic stool at a little table. She orders some of everything. The rice is roasted over the coals with the meat and it becomes like a skin.

Thank you, she says to the man when he sets the food in front of her.

Don’t mention it.

The man has only a few teeth.

There is an almond grove across the street. In the spring it smells like a photograph.

There is a cormorant cooling itself in the water, then it stands on a rock. A white egret has burst from the landing. In the grass, two coots are lying neck and neck, grooming the fur on each other’s heads with their white beaks.

Last night I dreamed I won three million in Las Vegas.

I gave the money to a poem made in silver leaf.

The cormorants are drying their wings. The bowl is empty. The balloon is in the sky. See, there are the people.

What are they doing?

Why, they’re stirring up the lake.

They're preparing some baked brie and a pork pie,

mushroom bisque.