So let’s have it out then, I said & once in a while one notices a shift of clouds, bruise-colored sky, black hills Now here’s a story, I said, finally here’s my story, something for someone to listen to The wind opened Swallows’ wings boomeranged the stubbled valley into patterns I said something in the […]

Back Now Out over A quiet street Shuttered against August’s heavy dull heat Threads of smoke From far fields Cloud-hidden stars Not one light across The courtyard Six years To write One Poem * (this poem comes from the limited edition chapbook Roman Hours, 2017)  

How was the sky at evening? It was sky. And how did you greet the sky at morning? I tried. And? Cried at all’s end. All’s end? And still they sang.

the long last century stuck like a fishspine in the           throat

In the gap-toothed city you dream Green when all is Gray   Coal wind Corners   A busted chin Snow in birchcrook When does a finger freeze? At night sometimes in the pale Sheet of sky   voices In this gap-toothed city tracing Lampposts   stones Lurch and lunge of streetcar in Breath-fog   brittle twilight How many maps and […]

one long run-on sentence of winter smudged the stubbled landscape * (some of) what is & is to come :

Morning-peel this morning’s a Kirchner Plum a sack   fingers of prune and shadows How to stand   up In loneliness Question        I’m still           and looking The Kirchner sky this Kirchner To see yourself through   she wrote   to see yourself Through you have to not imagine     no Yes imagine    /imagine:         the way this morning […]