Loot my point of view, hove my heart free from its hived booth though I know your smoke, its black blossom, is a substance I’ll never become: colors of plaster and grass I’ve prepped flawlessly, rivers I’ve whittled thin. It’s a personal matter to me, the wind. But let it be our cathedral feeling: a […]
I’m not interested in sadness, just a yard as elder earth, a library of sunflowers battered by the night’s rain. When sliced wide, halved at dawn, I see how you exist, O satellite town, your bright possibility born again in drywall and the diary with the trick lock. Hardly held, for years I slept with […]
In flowerbeds we crowd, some praying, some bowing as the world, minute as it is, stays in motion: box stores doing business, fast food joints, and above us a crow, secular bird, lighting on a lamppost while we take pictures or cry as if we could live forever in this gloried surround, gazing up at […]
I admit that I’m afraid of the way the city here is cordoned off in unpredictable manners & means, and of those who speak of love as if it could separate, bead off the skin like loosed mercury: if it seeps beneath, there is damage; if we continue along, shining, there is damage—but who among […]
There are differences between that rare warm day in winter and what we expect when March blows in, just as the rip-currents of desire have more to do with water than air, though the temptation to burst is suffered by dogwoods & daffodils both each false spring—these are the secrets you tell me after making […]
And when it was finally over, I was happy for the silence there, and the dark—when eating blackberries by the side of the road, I had no one to share them with but myself; and when the late-summer showers left an insular Glenwood neatly installed in the bank of the river, its enameled surface turned […]
Something about the weight of weather in summer, mid-morning, that reminds the lips of desire and the cruel, measured drip of time. And it’s true, back then, when I came home, whenever that was, no one was waiting at the window; nobody cared. And yet, here, among the just-hung wash, I feel as heavy as […]
Your voice, without buzz or notice, brought news; thank you. Here, for weeks, everywhere, freed by pickaxe & shovel, mud: the atmosphere so pregnant with its iron, you can taste it on your lips—any day now, the letting—but this morning, sweat glistering my rough-raw hands, I remembered our first transgressions: your saying, what matters most, […]