you shambles 
    spent climber
 
    I watch you 
race clockwise
 
and start to get 
    an urge
 
to put the poem 
   outside time 

I don’t wanna 
    but how to 

    arrange you 
ten weeks old 

eyes big 
    at song 

and Donald Trump 
     on the page
 
     with an app 
the driver says 

your president is
      very humorous

     you touch 
the mattress 

    pill bug 
curl now your 

head lolls like 
an older child’s 

will mothering 
     make me 

     minimalist 
often it feels
 
like I expected 
     only more or 

    less your 
test translates 

wild type – normal
     you turn into 

a flock of 
    geese in
 
   my arms 
prescient 

   he came to
Beijing and took

away a lot
    of dollars

I keep turning 
     to metaphor 

     because I’d 
like it easeful 

      the kuàidì
guys are gone
 
     you yawn 
mouth a black
 
plum once I 
      place this 

part the poem 
will be over 

     or a small 
black moon 

I await another 
     addressee