Visitation
Even the spires of milkweed bend over in the low tumble of wind through the prairie, dry reeds tapping hollow …
Even the spires of milkweed bend over in the low tumble of wind through the prairie, dry reeds tapping hollow …
Tomorrow my son moves back in bringing inexhaustible items in large clear sacks that swallow the floor like jellyfish claiming …
Even the meek swell with water running down. Come now, spill yourself into our long water. Let it trail you …
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 …
I think of love as something that grows form as it ages, sometimes firm, sometimes round, broadening, ambling if allowed. …
I am not sure if it is the breeze, wilder, more freeing than any in the city, or the wintergreen …
Today I woke up afraid, hope struggling to be born on this very brink, for my sons, for my city, …
you are a hard one staring off as you do gentle eyes throwing pity to every hidden thing hairless head …
through the fuzzy ultrasound screen it was your chin I noticed first fading in and out, scanning to your cheekbones, …