top of page


That girl (she was small)


as only a child does

a character—

of a child

arms out as crucifix

to bear a cumbersome

cumbersome jacket.

How she would love that word,

cumbersome cumbersome

because she’s a child and

it rumbles round the cheeks.

Mother-love is kneeling

affixing zippers and such and

little lark leans in:

eery how more perfect is

a small face than a large

a human than an adult.

Through that glass door only

her breath-fire-fog

spirals out along the winter light

and she will roll away

unknowing; she has left

this place in

new sad silence.

Recent Posts

See All

He moved across the forest They moved across the forest It moved across the forest moved across the forest elephantly. across the forest under the autumn star the azure trees the fruit of rippling way

that beauty shadows on the grass moon; hand; dance come alive, remember you, remembered reborn, we cannot sleep dreams have no answer but deep, close to the heart they say be seen, dream with one anot

The sun someday will be love again. The mountain someday will be sand. The land in the end will begin again, and flowers grow out of its hand. I remembered an ancient poem, held under the tongue of a

bottom of page