ATTACHMENTS

For Michael


He sleeps under a dark sky in Idaho, alone with the stars.
In the empty part of Washington, he writes, he’s seen the Milky Way
thrown against the sky.

I walk to the cafe, where I write. A leaf falls in my hair.
Green acorns roll out thick on the broken sidewalk. A dove
shoots up into my periphery.

When people touch each other in public, I look away
out to the lamb clouds and the green-leaved ash and the swath
of blue sky. They are so young

being clothed means nothing. There’s a window between us now.
She leaves. He raises his bare muscled shoulders above his head.
The clouds recede

feathering into shapes. Two heads swirl, leaning
sensuously away from each other, post-coital, dissolving.

A barista is killing flies.




About Jane Blue:
Jane Blue was born and raised in Berkeley, California and now lives with her husband near the Sacramento River. Her poems have appeared or will appear in many print and on-line magazines, such as Pirene’s Fountain, FutureCycle Poetry, and The Innisfree Poetry Journal. She has taught creative writing at women's centers, colleges and prisons, and privately.