and concern. There is a vase of the yellow masses in the window. They remain motionless despite the sound of the air cracking, the belt. Thirteen, fourteen. His body, in this space, is pointless.     August 10, 2014, MLT    

  In the rain, they are too small. The wings, the small holes, the designs, are filled with water. Their bodies glisten. I collected a jar of them and kept them in the garage for winter, one side frosted with window air. Their bodies quickly froze to the sides, a...

  Left out on the farm, there is the threat to turn cold. The discovery of the skeleton of an opossum on the line between the yard and the field, blending into the rocks. Like a small jesus---and the wise men are touching walking sticks to forehead. I think of...

  Look at the way the body separates; the individual, round skulls---the rotation, the turn, the hum. The brains lift down into the feet, small propellers. As if you and I were connected, somehow.     August 7, 2014, MLT    

  Weeds are meant to be pulled. Their wide, twine roots, boxing everything else in. It all takes so little time, the swarm, they take over. I struggle with the beautiful ones, negotiate their responsibility, and end up pulling them up anyway. Guts and roots. A...

  Let's say I take a bite directly from this tree---straight from the bark. What would you do? I understand. You are worried. You, all moon, all pure, imagine the splinters between my teeth, permanent there like small skulls. It becomes pointless to argue with...

  Let me make this perfectly clear: the iron is leaving my body. The calcium, the heat. The organs like cold compresses. Her own, smaller body inside my own is jarring, moving against bone and blood. It pains, and yet it tells me she is still breathing. The...

  There is a faun that passes through my backyard, only sometimes, and the bald tip of her tail and her limp are unmistakable. If she comes in the late afternoon, I lean my body against our porch door, and she freezes for me. The sun highlights her, an ear...