poem

Orchid piece

In the dark, in the window, in its tiny pot the orchid grows. The angles and edges we hardly notice while the orchid works to inhabit its small space. And for us no different, the quiet stirrings, the browned leaves,… Read More ›

Warrior 1

It can be enough actually, this: Just the angle of the day and you doing your best To cup a few handfuls of what it was like No different than wildflowers pressed in a book. Like the one in Scotland… Read More ›

Memento

I saved the lift ticket from that trip to the Alps, saved it because it was written in German with the date stamped on top I don’t know why I saved it, perhaps I thought there’d be a time I… Read More ›

Concourse A

Let me curl up with this book, Let me fold in on myself, Let me carve out a sliver of comfort in the corner Of this goddamned airport Oh to the sounds of the airport waiting to be somewhere else… Read More ›