1. You, you remember those earlier days when you walked along a more putrid river surrounded by chamomile and violets where the moon hung itself in the trees. The new moon became the funeral you walked into. You dreamt many times. 2. You remember how, once, your legs...

Your body has become the point where meeting can no longer take place— Your mouth filled with leaves the day you borrowed her dress (covered in small roses) and threw it – as if guided by an invisible line – out over the ocean. You led her to a place where you wept...

This poem needs some serious work -- Of Trenches and Stones Believing him is the easy part when love begins to taste like blood and water. Metaphor- ically: she wastes away on a cloud of opium and small metallic wings. You can taste the flour in the bread – smell the...

1. You were ill that winter. The flowers in your windowsill caught the flu, their red petals turned yellow against the snow. You remember those. You remember the way their scent changed from rose to lavender. 2. And when Christ learned to walk, you weren’t surprised....

I slept in a shape that suggested sitting as though sitting in a chair all day were not enough. You sleep in this chair, too, dreaming of reflected hen houses and sheep that count backwards, dreaming on their heads in a way that suggests cow-tipping cannot take...

You used to ask me where I left your glass of red wine. I could have told you the glass was on the side table but instead I told you – Wedding rings become inverted - Spider webs attach themselves to those corners as continued vacancies – Then the fields came to fill...

I know enough to say that I have lived twenty-two times on the eve of my funeral. My lack of pregnancy is what keeps me smaller – the clothes which used to be loose have become transparent with leaves, a globe of birds in the ocean cornering what is left of waves –...

1. The field was open like the mouth of a sparrow inside where there are winding halls You vanish into a brand of forget-me-nots and pollen 2. I spent that morning knowing that this was the one I couldn’t accept – inside the pages was a swan still breaking from its...