by Erin Malone

Those directed at the sky

Those that star and underline

Those that are cross

Holes torn in paper, half-erased

Ones that “never endeavor to advocate”

Those that confuse instructions and destructions

Those that drop objects

All thumbs

Dead ones

Those that explain photosynthesis of phytoplankton

in metagenomics

Those that are made up

Those that make up

Those that are enduringly dirty

Ones that say how do you like them apples

Say sorry I burned the goddamn pastry

Round-mouthed ones calling

Those that walk, imprinting the snow

Those that lobtail

Those that lobby for the protection of the Island Marble Butterfly

and old-world parlors

Those meaning mother

Those that lie down in the dark with a light

Those that swell

Those that whisper Salish Sea, Salish Sea