IPSO FACTO

My father’s pedagogy.

My mother’s bones.

The me that keeps moving.

Through dyads and triads.

Down dipsy doodles.

In hip bumps on the ballroom floor.

In a car that brakes for me.

Technology that types with me.

In the paddock that holds my truth.

Wearing hats I’ll call Kentucky.

Holding cat’s I can translate.

In the entomology of the gardens I grow.

In mischievous seizures.

Meetings with builders

that result in quadrangles, courtyards, and coops.

In the heart of my neighbor.

Mirrors and windows.

Rumors of outrageous revivals.

In elaborate configurations

and subtle ingratiations,

the fact is, I am all me.

Now that we’ve settled that,

please pass 

the dates.