A Poem–different from my usual work

SPRING MORNING It is without a word that you follow me outside like a lumbering shadow. We reach the sidewalk, our steps matching. Wind tangles in my hair as we pass apartment doorways and windows. It is when we see the shadows of two people making love through an...

When He Asked Her to Turn Him into a Poem

She removed his shirt and pushed him into the moonlight. He became all silvery skin. And so she painted him—deep black covered portions of his arms, his hands, his face, until finally she moved him out of the moonlight. He disappeared, except for a hand here, a limb...

Nights that Dreamed Her Open

There was a morning when she opened herself to horses— it was a sort of release, the wind and soft petals under her toes. She waited out in the field, their bodies lingering off on the horizon. They looked black against the sun, manes twisting, all muscle. She...

All Memory

It was late, and the sky had long past burst and cleared into stars when it ran from the trees, like a mass, illuminated into white and fur in the headlights. Its eyes were like two pearls. I watched as it tumbled away into the darkness, that broken filament, and I...

Near the End of It

As I move through this evening, I am reminded of you. During the winter which beat my skin raw, we tried to be someone older. We attempted to speak like birds, all sound in the early morning glow, the pink dew and raw strawberries. You became all hands, you like a...