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Natureexpand_moreHe probably had an order. Ludes, Dexis, Black Birds—who knew.
A Midwestern man is never without his knife. Half of us carry guns.
Each drifting snowflake falls nowhere but here and now
The willows crack as the startled deer flee into a deeper darkness.
The owl was a white that could not be compromised by any other color.
I insist you peel me. Keep my skin when I’m gone.
They know whoever passes on the curving road just by the footstep.
In the reign of the cold, in the name of the sorrow, in the flame of the hark.
My imagination has been weak lately, caught in some half-world.
Through all this the sands kept vigil, harboring blood and bones.
I was created in His image I had dominion over every thing
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens her first rose
Beached on the kingdom I learned to swim with my eyes closed.
Ahab went mad when he saw the sea is just the sea and nothing more.
Filarial worms in bloodstream darkness know when it’s night.
If you are hidden treasure, mine, don’t let me lose what I have gained.
Then a darker realization shook him: he’d left Jason at the bottom of the steps, alone.
A plastic Kroger’s bag caught in the chinking—Spelter’s only banner.
When I wasn’t teaching social studies, I basically lived on my balcony.
Oklahoma, a state shaped like a pot, probably some gruel inside.
As a girl I was raised to sing along with the rest. To praise. Especially men.
He could smell the bear’s breath, feel the hot huff against his ear.
All night, rain from the distant past. I sometimes waken as a child.
The wind was like a girl sobbing out her story of betrayal to the stars.
I couldn’t make sense of the ruined house, the love stained to its creases. Sometimes life is a sequence of departures, sometimes a destruction.
Sometimes the old men held their fishing poles like divinations.
My cry for the first time fastened garlands of hope to the roof.
Oh brother, the eye of the needle is shaking the weather awake.
They say the night watchman is so good he hears the grass growing.
Nothing is beyond texture. Wind mouths the shape of clouds.
