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Portrait

sun-scarred eyes

granite hard and grey

ingrained, glittering

in joyous inclusion,

the wildest blooming

tendrils entwine

and a sea-change,

rolling upwards in

a great green mass

through exquisite

fissured, always

firm, momentous

eyes; conversant

with the earth, as

his, as it will ever

be: an expectation

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damascus

I haven’t asked him for his number because now I am known, now the I-I-I am afraid, now I am up there on the raggedy cross with Christ: no longer unimaginable (so a little breathless), no number, no d

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In the end, I suppose the better question is: how does the ocean feel about us?

FOLLOW ME

I emerged from my door and carried into my present moment the quivering skeleton of a whom this poem is for, a what is trying to be accomplished. We are the escape artists. We point the way out. We pa

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