Sorry to mention the chorus of cicadas / and the constellations of fireflies

Youth, greedy for beauty, / Squanders it carelessly.

You shark-circle me, I know, But I am in my own ocean, Lying in hushed dark blue and looking up To the curve of the tail of my blue whale.

This morning the world tried its best to tuck me back in.

. . . there's no doubt about it, it's pure naiad scorn.

We consume what we must, to make it up. In this neighborhood, tact never stood a chance.

My father walks through the scrub, a shortcut, to get to Walmart where he meets up with his friends for coffee on Friday afternoons.

At the dissertation defense, the psychology grad student is saying that oxytocin is essential to feelings of social affiliation . . .