PRESS RELEASE

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You touching toe touching nose touching bottom lip. Something green turned into itself, full or empty depending on how you look at it, like a glass on a lake. You wear neon shorts and walk ahead of me on the trail. She was an exchange student.

…I remember a teacher with long hair but cut short in this dream. We start working but then stop again to look. Wine on the hill, up the street. Talk of dogs always, lovers too. This trail is dusty, despite the rains. Friends come from the most unlikely places but also from next door.

Now many years later I have new neighbors in another town. That one trimmed our pomegranate tree when it grew into the street. The other night a song by Celine Dion played on repeat for an hour. We got curtains.

Complicated zig-zag stems make their way into our house. I chip and shear and struggle together alongside a mess of weeds and overgrown plants. They mistake the pillars around our house for stability.  I am finally reigning them in and sculpting them into a right-left-right-left pattern across the lawn. Bright green broken.

Take it all on you say. Finesse broken plastic pots. We argue. How is butter a resource and toast a necessity? How is a parking lot a resource and a driveway a territory? How is a jug of water a resource and your appetite a territory when you speak to me?

…You walk in and memories of past homes come in with you, it’s distant but comfortable. The wind in the studio moves the fabric hanging from your wooden sculptures. I hear it from next door and here there’s the smell of a barn, fragments of hay and flowers. 

A friendship shape is accompanied by smaller versions of that shape. They float above our property lines.