You’ve forgotten the names of your homemade saintswho crowd in the dark behind your thin lids.In the veil you’ve drawn betweenHere and Not Here, they...
POULTICEWhen you have looked elsewherefor answers—the spider’s web,the empty hive, the rotted log,beneath the unturned stone—ask yourself what you haveneglected. Do not lamentthat what...
Violin Plays
She holds on tight to bow and strings, yet,it is her body, curving and rounding,on inner caverns that gives musicits beginnings: Soaked in...
