Explore

Left Behind Looks for the Apsaras

Left Behind climbed the Octopus Tree to find the source of fire.

Lester Leaps In

No matter how hard I played, it was like I was performing inside a vacuum.

Let Him Go On, Mama

He spoke of the river’s origins as though telling of the birth of a god.

Letter to Metune from Lahontan Reservoir

At fifty, a new love feels like a particular kind of hopelessness.

Letter to Myself in the Future #15

I know it’s a problem, that I prefer to think instead of live.

Letter to Myself in the Future #4

I slide my heart inside a folded sheet of paper and tape down the opening.

Letter to Ruth Stone

Another light is growing out of their shadows. You can hear it.

Letters to a Young Writer

Lewisburg and Other Poems

Desire whittled me a tool I’d never seen but knew how to use.

Lichen Song

I stay gripped to pine and the sugar of existence runs through you.

Lightning

After having been riddled with stars: I lost the light that was lost.

Lightning Time

It’s wrong to say the lightning is pink is nothing other than to say it’s not.

Like a Cloud or Boy

The itch of hay dust was the unscratchable itch of desire.

Likeness Makes Its Solitary Way Seeking the Lost Whole

Call it an echo. Like a sketch of the moon as the moon lies in silvery forms.

Lilacs

Some portion of love is braided from lying, from the names of distance.

Listen to Me

Mark was spending his life with one of the world’s weaklings.

Little Citizen, Little Survivor

Welcome, little citizen. Lend me your presence, and I’ll lend you mine.

Loading a Boar

A goddam mean big sonofabitch boar rooted me in the stomach.

Long Run

Each evening spent guessing which hemisphere the moon might wreck.

Look Again

I know that hairs
on my head go singly gray only
by night.

Looking at Stars with George

We crunch through the snow in the predawn blue-black cold. He tells me about the stars: Vega, Betelgeuse, Arcturus, Rigel.

Looking for the Differences

I am struck by the otherness of things rather than their sameness.

Love Song Full of Holes

let me fall through some small bore into your tiny breathing eden

Lucky

The pumpkins are looking up my skirt, making orange a kind of festive.

Lunar Calendar

The moon rescinds its blessing, rests its forehead on a crosier of ivory.

Mackintosh

His eyes rested on the trees. By George, it’s like the garden of Eden.

Magdalen Walks

All the woods are alive with the murmur and sound of Spring.

Make It Black

Maybe that’s what she feels, not stranded, but suspended in time.

Makeshifts

Ice and evergreen and sun; three moments arranged for human looking.

Mama Scarecrow

she will unchew the dried bulbs of history, spit them at the foot of her post.