Your favorite mornings were when you turned off my skin--- my hair became elongated fiber my eyes, melted and frozen, over and over. * It became this soft repetition--- this event--- of cars and medical wire, deer crossing the street with nowhere to go but up and...

It's winter---and we're walking on a path where there used to be leaves. You point me in the direction of where the car ran off, right there, right behind a series of bushes that look like birds, the skeleton of a path left over beneath the trees. A mailbox marks the...

The gentle faces fall and collect, fall like deer into the field--- over and over like soft moons. * You remember her skin and how it rang with moonlight. And though the moon may never sing, the image made sense--- the way that shine seemed to quantify sound.

The gentle faces fall and collect, fall like deer into the field— over and over like soft moons.

The raccoon would not be moved easily, then, its skin too far gone, all fish and sinew, pinned behind the farthest bunker on the field. Children turned around the animal like meat grinders, their faces red with snow, their hearts beating, rotating with the orbit,...

If this were a poem, you would be awake by now-- like a ghost a migration of birds. Your body--ejected to the ceiling--would become a pillar for Christ to place his feet. It happened on the morning when in your car, you could not sleep. Your mind, ejected particles....