Category: Poetry

As a quavering leaf is struck down slabs of iron in miniature, hewn to exactitude do a double take.

They staggered thirsty over the reefs with a calibrated zeal that made nude the native hall-dwellers. A sustained loss from the exploits, the cleaving, filling of the earth and the graves were dug and recorded in the collected hours before dawn. These leaves, an almanac of conciliatory efforts to placate the sacralized grain.

They control the world but defer to a light bulb�s parallel presence as object and event.

I understand that your piece of parchment is an act of war, that the little sticks you�ve scattered upon it are a type of language.

To explain, to chart, to graph what has lasted this long and what hasnt.

Each afternoon heavy clouds form in the north, and each evening when I take the dogs out, it snows.

Shes meeting a friend for a walk through the museum of fine arts and lunch –errands to run on the way…

Toward sunset it bleeds orange, plums, and wine. The father always at table with his mug in hand.

I could give my horizon, the one I see on cheekbones…