Serious Business

by Kate Rose

It’s difficult to wear the sun.
The crow knows.
I haven’t tasted your tiramisu.
Footnotes fade.
The engine hasn’t started
its pouting south –
ocean’s open mouth.

A destination like desire, or destiny –
an old, old place always new.

We must be who we are.

Only the sandy strand knows
how to vanish.

Transit

Kate Rose

I packed up my deities
in market luggage.
Please don’t ask me to
pour them out.
We only know our own indias.
Our turbaned servants are not the same.
On my shoulder.
Bells. Hawks brushing back.
Brushing back.