So cold the sky
waves roll in, tossed over themselves by November winds that scrape surface up and over, up and over, coil under …
waves roll in, tossed over themselves by November winds that scrape surface up and over, up and over, coil under …
I am not sure if it is the breeze, wilder, more freeing than any in the city, or the wintergreen …
I am not afraid of miracles, though all of my angry doubts must make you think so. I long for …
It is as I come down this morning and remember having tried to put away five pounds of Idaho potatoes …
The sea does not love me nor does it love me not it just pays no mind as it swells …
One thousand ghosts
assault me in the parking lot,
begging to be said.
Somewhere in the silky trill of the early birds
my memory finds you,
and in its deep wanderings