Mira Gut there are no flowers here but snow. the bay not yet free chunked with ice the white of which exists only against a distant liquid sea. at least the sun visits, comforting, illusion though it is, visions of... Continue Reading →
Climate Control Respect the wind drawing machines, give them enough slack to reinvent the wheel (there’s a lot you can still do with a piece of string and a small sail). Embrace patience which is the opposite of waiting. Be... Continue Reading →
To My Unnamed Daughter: Still, folded between flesh nooked in eyelets, in a garden of so much unseen strawberry blush, you are kept half- formed and listless little love, till boats of skin slip past—all three of us unmoored with... Continue Reading →
For the Broken I threw an apple core skyward to see if it would reach the moon. It fell into a field of wild roses, which were eventually cut and posed In a vase centered on a table set with... Continue Reading →
Licking the Spoon As the huge putty bowl appeared so did I, abandoning Narnia and the fire with poppy red coals. My nine year old ears finely tuned to those cupboard hinges. Grandmother's apron tied in a rush as one... Continue Reading →
Only the Instruments Change I sat in a stone courtyard, sprinkled with fallen leaves, like colored pencil shavings. I was bombarded: a cacophony of lawn mowers, a litany of leaf blowers. Relentless invasions steal sleep, and haunt waking hours. The... Continue Reading →
Poetry Breakfast 