What love could learn from fungus if it would only listen
I wish you could spread in that restless, vindictive, ambling way — to not be held back, to spew spores …
I wish you could spread in that restless, vindictive, ambling way — to not be held back, to spew spores …
How the rain pours down with heavy boots on our roof. We hover close to our papers someways happier for …
Slowly, slowly life comes back. Hair-fine roots far below the surface muster a wiggle, a stretch, and stir for us …
Even as you sit smoking weed in the room I just cleaned and leave your papers and dirty dishes on …
maze of brown at the center, trees empty of leaves, row after row stretching to scattered hazel edging the lake, …
All that comes to me now is the prairie, how it is empty to the casual eye, how you walk …
Dusts of snow edge the earth, uneven lines mark sun-warmed pavers. With under-parts protected, statuary gather new relief, dying grasses …
Earth grieves each November, again finds itself wailing in sorrow, refusing to get out of bed. For its own tears …
waves roll in, tossed over themselves by November winds that scrape surface up and over, up and over, coil under …
Everyday they fall. The leaves tumble down through branches, tossed by rolling breeze, find their way to mother earth, shaken …