Shallow, uneven, breath of an infant. The eyes are rock pools at low tide. Bones in the face are the face. No life, no expression. Not sleep, not illness,…
—after Johannes August Nahl’s “The Tomb of Madame Langhans” Bury a woman with her stillborn, the baby crawls out fingers first as the child of Maria Magdelena Langhans: Cherubic…
Was when I was watching Misty Copeland dance “The Nutcracker” on mute, As I listened to “The Point of No Return” by Immortal Technique. It was simply beautiful. What…
watering too much. Watering too little. Not providing enough sunlight or providing too much. Letting cold air overcome them. With concern pitched at the right octave, the green, gangly…
our most tender overtures toward each other have turned against us, targeted us for shortness of breath and breadth of lifespan. When I tell you it’s dead outside, I…
in memory of my student, 2000-2019 After last spring’s surprise grackle attack and the autumn squirrels’ burgling acrobatics I almost didn’t fill the feeders this year. …
Sometimes I think the gods want something else. Enough with the libations, they might cry (if it weren’t for the prohibition on two-way speech). Don’t gore that ox on…
He went to her on my birthday. Did he sneak through the blades of night Between our friends’ quarter moon tents To find her? Maybe they walked the aqueous…