The universe has a peculiar reaction to our sincere desires.
— Mary Ruefle, “Someone Reading a Book”

Sincere desire: to call
today the worst birthday
but I don’t care.

The cat is all now you know
how it feels. House finches
swing on the feeder,

chuffed to see me
behind glass. My sincere desire
is to record a teaching video.

I am pale but I explain
the field of cultural production
to an empty room:

could be a metaphor but
I’m guessing not.
Doubt is my peculiar

stir crazy. On my last walk by
the creek, a woman bolted
when she saw me

fifty metres off, startled
like she was a deer and
I a hunter or a virus.

Just me in the woods
looking for rushing water
to listen to this week when

the Big Strange merged with
the Big Lonely: everybody’s
all-time ailment.

The cat is never sincere
but she flings one back
foot over the keyboard. Stay.