Poetry
I Used to Be White
like a white sail / / luffing in the white wind /
Awake
1. awake is how we leave / our other selves / asleep / / 2. a ship cleaves sea / a wake...
Photographing Bushkill Creek
I’m sitting on the bank where you once stood / to photograph the creek the way you would / have on a day like this. You’d go knee-deep / to get a...
Erratics
The hills and stones are drunker than us. / Someone spilled a thousand rolls of green velvet / at a party of rocks. We walk over them / and through the glissading...
sleeping
you know they love you if they take your picture while you’re sleeping. / i take pictures because i feel like i understand things that way / if i feel i understand...
mandolin
turn me to play tire tracked steel wound funiculars filamented clandestine caravans bordering optic filters and a mandolin so held, so structuralized and redistributed as Saracen crescents as buttery Actias Luna (saturnidae)...
Old Man Winter 1
Old man winter’s got a gap-toothed scowl on his stubbled / crag. He spits blizzards like Copenhagen chew, expectorates / Nor’easters in autumn’s brass spittoon. / / Summer’s child isn’t welcome...
Fulfillment
These geese have accomplished what they were born for: / tedious flight north, nest building on a river bank, / eggs laid and warmed. Not least the long / weeks of waiting...
Goose
The goose was in love with three ganders and they loved her in return — / unheard of in the annals of barnyard literature. The farmer, a woman / with no time for...