The Dock at Parsons Lake

[Todd]

Hey Aish,

Long time no read. Hope you're well. Here are some comments for you:

Dark has driven its tent spike into this side of the world--love the opening, great evocative phrasing.      
and I just want everyone to shut the fuck up, turn down{b]--consider a line break after everyone for the layering[/b]      
or off or out, so I can be alone      
with the words in your veins    
and the drug-like high waiting on your tongue.--I think there has to be something better than drug-like    
     
I want the tires on the highways to quit rolling,      
this supply and demand society to forget itself and fast.
Maybe if it lost a few pounds of media opinions--consider a break after pounds      
some handfuls of people could find God for real      
and stop calling her names like political power     
or dead presidents or replacement theology.--you dropped the insidious replacement theology into the mix, love it    
     
I just want to wear your skin in the soft cricket songs of summer,--again nice phrasing soft cricket songs of summer seems perfect for its imagery and sonics      
swaying with the breeze as it hums itself around our shoulders      
and our soles grow new shoots into the sky.--Sort of James Wright-ish "A blessing" lovely.    
     
I want to hold the coals of your eyes--again love the image, tight  
as they blaze over me in baptizement      
nourishing drought dry wells I forgot I'm made from.--the second part of this line is especially interesting    
     
I just want to yield and demand with nothing but my breath,--I think I would prefer something tighter Maybe: "I demand with...breath
as you crochet the sounds into a long shawl that will protect us--I don't entirely like the that will protect us. If you can implant that into the cooler, earlier crochet the sounds idea great, if not I'd leave it ambiguous. Just a thought    
when the flash and flush of that first bloom quiets itself      
in autumn, and I draw pictures of poems we tangled ourselves into      
by dragging my fingertips through frosted window panes we erected--don't care for the we erected getting between frosted window panes and inhaling    

inhaling the crisp air hovering over them,      
knotting new octaves into almost silent heartbeats,--love this  
kissing the chill from one anothers palms--and love the tender image here    
     
until I thaw.  
And I just want to be those words in your veins, closer than home--I would give closer than home its own line    
nearer the bone    
while cicadas wake in chorus at sunrise and I'm your mystery girl again.--Maybe wake in sunrise chorus. I like the ending

I hope some of that helped.

Best,

Todd