The blue bird tapped at my window and pecked my crumbs. I talked to him as to a small person about the things of life, of flowers, of trees and the sky. Even at times pretending he was erudite, I questioned him about evolution and extinction. He looked at me as if he…

The east wind probes through the eaves, pushing at the walls, as though it wants to drag us out into the cold, to swallow us whole.

Figures are a strip tease.

The wind comes up relentless in the afternoon

Because I'm old and this is the Way I Do Things now...

He’s an empty sock

burning for You, caught in between, yearning to remain completely wrapped around Your finger, feeling panoramic, and this alive.

I walked into a novel and sat down on a rock. The language was distressed and full of cyclones and swells. I could smell embalming fluid and folklore. Everywhere I went there were doorknobs, escalators, and clocks. Objects of all genre overflowing with prose. I stood at …

Between chapters, he trained my dog, Buster. He taught him to fetch bottle caps, roll over for no reason, and to play dead whenever someone raised their voice

A Praying Mantis clover to bright emerald green landed on my sleeve and lingered as I worked in my hay field.

Sometimes words are carved in stone, but you won't find these in this poem

Let it rage. I shall not suppress you. Let your rage speak to you of the sorrow it hides, until your sadness swallows you whole.

It's house has seen every day and every night From its windows stars are born and die

Flying mammal with thin membrane forelimb adaptive wings. Amazing number of species from fruit-eating to insectivores. All capable of landing in your hair at night.

Pieces that said shrug a shrug and then another and one to right with the eyes that squint and one to left with rhythm that never left. And piece after piece, after piece they stich themselves, née weave a tapestry that is the dance your very walk swayed