Poetry

  • Psalm: Made by What

    Made by what I read    Slippage           To think             a fall broken                 as not a         stumble                         but a certain voice                     among the trees Listen              Listen            I am the ghost of undivided attention             I am     what Saul saw on the road near Damascus I am the ancient sigh pushed             out on the…

  • The Lion and The Gazelle

    Because the bullet was a dream before it was a bird. Because the bullet was a dream before it alighted in the child’s body while he looked at a pigeon wobbling through the air. Because the child has moved into photographs on mantels and the dreamer’s hands are folded in his lap and have not…

  • Leophantos

    After Posidippus   When my ship was wrecked on the rocks, and I died, Leophantos, a traveler, found me. Long on the road, he mourned by my side and wrapped a shawl around me. Alone by the sea he buried me and offered up his prayer. But I, too small to tell him of my…

  • Deja Vu

    It happened to me once. Winter came and snow quilted every inch. I stood on the soap box as I was told, and made staggering accusations. The public ignored so I retreated behind the potted yew. I was waiting for a moment I was supposed to have on a balcony overlooking the giant gridded landscape….

  • One-Eyed Midwife

                                    i. Old gold stars & a basket full of spinning eggs. I have been lit by handless fire: I surrender.                                 ii. A sliver cricket chirps Luna! Luna! quickening yellow eyelids of awe.                                 iii. Whose milky nipple nurses a galaxy? Whose changeable face peers over a cradle?                                 iv. Crone who never dies…

  • Stowaway’s Ascent

    The footsteps are unanimous, an urgent ovation which I took as the most wrong moment to show myself. If compassion struck the hull to pull us down, who could show compassion then to one such as myself? But eventually the storm moved on, silence proclaimed the shipmen gone and I lay on my back in…

  • Teahouse

    In the dark field, The question is the same. Desiring to sit and not sit In one place. And write nothing about smoke, Flaring birds with diaphanous wings, A crow’s intent, how slow the elderly Beneath spangled trees—how thoughtful their retreat. One bottomless pot. But I can’t keep Roethke out of my thoughts, Tu Fu…

  • Caballero

    Only symmetry harbors loss. —Lorna Dee Cervantes                 Throatlatch. Crupper. Martingale. Terret. My breath                         tightens around him,                                                 like a harness. Once a year         he eats a spoonful of dirt             from his father’s grave.                                                             In his sleep                                                 he mutters lines                                                             from his favorite flick,                                                 Capulina  …