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Farallon

He wondered how others lived with their sins. Maybe they never did.

Father’s Day

The celebration stops, like a sparrow hitting a sliding-glass door.

Feeding the Lions

If someone looked into his eyes they would see how ugly his mind was.

fever dream sonnet with Francesca Woodman

you crawl into a hole & pull the hole in after you on judgment day even our mothers will flee from us.

Field Notes, Sketches, and Watercolors: Birds of the High Plains

She examines her left hand, finger by finger, gripping and pinching the flesh.

Filthy Little Things

The moths were the things that invaded, like a bad man’s touch.

Find and Replace

Ann Beattie in a wonderful reading of her story “Find and Replace."

Finding Absolution in the Flow

What you seek has eluded you. Yet you stay on. You take comfort in the music.

Fire Emblem

Less magic, less defense, more speed, more stealth.

First Love

The jealous Othello, ready for murder, was transformed into a school-boy.

First Night of Shiva, 11/6/2024

The smell of death, once it gets inside your nose, is unmistakable.

Fish

By the kitchen sink, my aunt held a fish as if holding the Holy Body.

Fisherman’s Daughter

Fishing with Dad guaranteed two days of just us and made me special.

Five Poems

i was a wild thing down by the river, quiet like wild things are.

Five Poems

Exhausted, androgynous, delirious, I delight in my many parts.

Five Poems

I dug a hole in you; I jumped (here is the church, here is the steeple).

Five Poems

Before there was air, sublime silence. There was no one not to hear it.

Five Poems

I told you how I’ve always been attracted to little violences.

Five Poems

He loves me. That’s half enough: he’s the only man around.

Five Poems

It is here I learn the speech of men. The speechless guilt of every swig.

Five Poems

I'll pick a black card of luck for you: star, pinkmoon, mirror, ostrich eye.

Five Poems

Even as a child, I was skeptical—testing God when He wasn’t looking.

Five Poems

He greets you with a kiss and marries your elbow to walk the path.

Fleur-de-lis

I thought about the little graveyard where the man would be laid.

Flightless (The String)

he has come to write like nervous wasps in my mind like a grocery list.

Florette

When he bent close to her, his balaclava glowed silvery in the dying sunlight.

Food Poem

After almonds after anchovies. After baguettes, a plate of cheese.

For Richard

Glad to hear the garden can be worse than being awake

Formless Stanza

Lunatics call it annihilation . . . Think of it as not doing a thing

Formula

A plus B; a child in peril, plus love, dissolution of, equals a story.