Numbering in the Many

God liked it when I brought my nets to the shore.
He likes when I drag my sieve through the accumulation.
When I gather up the plastic bottles
a little water sloshes and reminds him of the sea
he meant to populate, which would bluster and foam
like a sea. I meant to stop chewing the straw.

I've mistaken the popcorn ceiling for star maps
so many times it's embarrassing. Speech was like
the stones we threw in the river. Something
was never added to, only recapitulated.
Linden leaves yellow at the boundary. Fireflies
enmesh in the orange light streaming down
from the supermarket sign, though they seek out
pockets of dark, though they are mistaken about darkness.

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Copyright © 2015 Brandon Kreitler All rights reserved
from West Branch
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission