A Fragmented Diary in a Fragmented Time

We take our solace, in a time of malaise and mourning, in the close-at-hand.


Complicity can crease the tongue back on itself like an origami dog.

Charm for a Spring Storm

I am tamping down the earth with the flat side of a blade I am burying you


She wondered if tomorrow would fill her with so strange a stirring.

Easter Wings

Lufthansa lifts off under me. The set sun disinters, a fanned cinder.

Five Poems

The stars begin to turn clockwise, freeing us of all consequences.

Five Poems

I drag my sheets as Earth drags her tangled mess of tides.


Suddenly two would dart and clasp one another belly to belly.

Four Poems

This is the stupid math of loving another human being.

From Notes at the Grave of James Felix Quigley

Out there, my father captains a boat tour below the Cliffs of Moher


The world beyond the windows slowly tips forward into spring.


The canary-yellow sweater she knit while pregnant with me thawed first.

I Want to Know Why

There’s something I saw at the race meeting I can’t figure out.

Memorial Day

We could hear the parade three blocks before it arrived at our corner.

Night Fishing

Anchored off Biscayne Bay my father’s wooden skiff swings easy.

Ode to Repetition

She’s not the same, her body more naked in its aging, its disorder.

Poem after Carlos Drummond de Andrade

It’s life that is hard: sleeping, eating, loving, and dying are easy.

Raynaud’s Weather

A heart takes precautions, withholds warmth, but it’s mistaken.

Separation and Other Poems

On the other side of Paris an exhibit depicts their home, which is nowhere.

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond

you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens her first rose

Spring Cleaning

I ought to haul out this junk I called winter and lose it somewhere.

The Day Has Finished Waiting

The day holds a cup of milk and sits on the couch, legs tucked up.

Three Poems

Three Poems

You linger in the dimming aftermath, grayer and fainter than a breath.

To Autumn

Bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees, and fill all fruit with ripeness.

Two Poems

I want to sleep in a bed next to a man who won’t dream of me all night.

Two Surgeons

Two surgeons vaulted over a counter to hold open my incisions.

Why I Don’t Want to Live Forever

I make a point of smelling the lilac every day that first week in May.