In some better yet the dogs
all desire to go home with you,

but you are too busy planting cucumbers

to notice. In another, your life is a spectral
accordion. You choose the folds and notes

to please your molten audience, who sway

and cool with your timeless, hooting trajectory.
Some better yets bring you the always open window,

the immediate understanding of bird song, cowry shells

filled with the sweat of those you found frustrating.
In one better yet, people fall apart in symbols

when all you have left is halting romantic language,

evolution is written on the back of pointed leaves
in poetry, and the horse never needs shoes.

In this better yet, you aren’t looking for good times

right around the corner and when I say Yes,
you don’t stop for a second.