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When my love walks, the fetus sways asleep, its face covered with fur. She walks to work. She walks under the trees, through the dilapidated halls, telling her students you can do it. But when she comes home, and lies down, tired and willing to forget herself, it begins: the kicking, the panic within. She…

Those armored domes would appear at random, the gifts of chance. Like us hearing the sinister rustle of leaves during a stalled moment of those games we played in the woodlot. My little brother and I would bring the box turtle home, where we'd built a cage out of old window screens. At first it'd…

—C. G. Jung on archetypal dream imagery paradise gave me these legs      for spinning weep and pray and be joyful paradise gave me these legs      to weep and pray and be joyful when I have fixed each corner      p l i é relevé spin I start the silky spokes            p l i é relevé…

Touch my hand from the outer edge, touch it firmly but gentle be, try to find the radial artery. Heavy lids pull off delicately and exercise the pupils' reflexes. Put the mirror close to my mouth and see if breath clouds the glass. If nothing can be caught shroud me in sleek silk, press the…

We listen for the clear voice of our rooster, with all his might demanding the day. There is only quiet, a weak light coming anyway. I’ve looked wherever a bird unfit for life in the wild might hide. It was his coop, his kingdom. He showed the cat his wrath. He sparked the little fleck…

The night my brother died my father wrenched his own cracked, yellow molars from his mouth and went crashing like a wounded deer over the ridge and down, five miles through the brush, into Soda Canyon where the cops found him wandering, spent, around the burnt-out dance hall and brought him home. Bandaging his brush…

Dawning, but for whom? He lies unconscious, broken by the surf of sleep, marbled skin and bluish lips, green anisocorion. A bond of godhead almost extinguished with the arriving blood-red dawn. Who now can conjure feeling for someone permeated by dark and light of spent passion, whose shrivelled lips remind one of worn fruit? Let…