Where does it go, when the hair recedes—and why does it leave? And will I go like that too, without any notice but more a long, slow fade like snow thawing in a field— And are we just that then,… Read More ›
poetry
“Believe”
I grind my teeth at night, I clench my jaws what’s troubling me, beneath the surface? big, prehistoric fish swimming low? my fears, my desires, combined to one? you clench your jaws for all you want to say but cannot,… Read More ›
“Little time”
In the late, gray January morn you have already moved on. Though the evergreens stand like Japanese watercolors in the fog, you’re making breakfast in your mind, making plans for the day. Though springtime stirs, but has hit the snooze—… Read More ›
4:59, Friday
In my time of darkness I go back to the old haunts, to Raymond Carver: I closed the book and he looked back, and in the morning spoke to me on the toilet, in my bathrobe with my phone: He… Read More ›
Poem | ‘The remains’
How dim the light in the morning through the last brown leaves And the look of the limbs curled inwards, slumped low How soft the heater blows those long, solemn notes Like the sound of a car scraping down an… Read More ›
Song for the undoing
How the days went by like the poets said they would, like wild horses over the hills or worse: indistinct and unnoticed, unremarkable, not lived. Let the days be seen for their own worth, wild as horses, mysterious as the… Read More ›
Twilight September
In the late afternoon shadows, by the underlit leaves, near a tree bent by the weight of its own fruit…in the breeze between summer and fall: there, in the crook of a bush by a rock I spied a colored… Read More ›
Song from a shell
In the icy depths of sleep, in dreams, you held me when I was no one, just myself, a shell You held me at the edges where I could have been anyone, but wasn’t— and in sleep, in dreams, is… Read More ›
Song for late summer’s sorrow
When the sun came out it hardly mattered with the wildfire smoke and clouds and cloying mood that comes from late summer days you’ve seen enough of: No, the sun was going under, swallowed and swollen, buried by messy, careless… Read More ›
Dream of forgetfulness in the wake of night
In the papery pre-light of dawn my wings like a honey bee’s begin to break down my body a weight I can’t let go, these words are the weights when they hang here, unsaid.
