In her book, she said the guiding principle was guarding against irreparable losses; she’d managed to live so as to avoid any major cause of regret. Anyone who’s done that, raise your hand: you’re excused from this poem. As for us who remain, let’s go around the circle and list our regrets. For the stuporous,…
I shimmied my way up the thick vine like a cord plugged into heaven—electricity crackled down the line between my hands, reflexes tightening the fingers—I took it as a message from the gods, onwards! So up I went clapping hands ankles knees to the breeze as the cord arced left and right in the sky—…
I. The garden of Eden. Also called earthly p., to distinguish it from the heavenly p. First She is seventeen, he twenty-one. She is a green girl, Ophelic but believing Herself a witch-queen, while he plays Edmund, Bastard and natural. Sitting on the cliff’s edge, her Back to the village where floats down…
On the stage Robert Schumann is getting drunk With tempestuous love. You remember what it is to listen to passionate Nineteenth-century music, a clamor of argument and struggle Invoking the old gods, thunderbolt and hurricane, At the moment of their dying, and here in the lightning Is Clara whose father forbids her to marry…
Corpses push up through thawing permafrost, as I scrape salmon skin off a pan at the sink; on the porch, motes in slanting yellow light undulate in air. Is Venus at dusk as luminous as Venus at dawn? Yesterday I was about to seal a borax capsule angled up from the bottom of a decaying…
We shelter best that which destroys us. Language. Speaking to the other is like this: standing on a small raft; baskets of apples to balance it; a murder of crows downstream. There are no maps of the waters that cross through this house. A shut door does no good. Even pots with lids…
The king is murdered and his daughter, Mis, goes mad, growing fur and killer claws, escaping into the woods. She is tamed by Dubh Ruis, a harp player. Marrying her, he becomes king. —Irish legend Don’t touch me, don’t come near. I’ll shred your flesh from bone. Don’t even stare. I can smell you…
The night is busy with the growth of stars. Above us peaceful. Shiyáázh, my son, fusses in his cradleboard. The protective rainbow shaped by his father arches over his face to protect him. In the dark sand below Monster Slayer’s archenemy rises again to pull us off this rock where we’ve taken refuge since winter’s…
Yes, I was utterly wrong, I thought that humans were vertical wounds against the horizon, feeding their own fissures with wood and coal, knocking constellations with empty heads, smiling at desire with a missing golden tooth. And they aren’t like that, instead, humans are just humans like the songs that birds sing when braiding with…
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