More on: Poetry

Each body a consecrated temple. / That means // sister, no one needs to see / past your knees.

This faith was not mine / this bite into colorless / this flush with skin and bones / this eating the circle this / fingering of names

He’ll rewire you / Because you let him, no, because you were looking / Always for someone who could.

I am soothing; on an empty leash, eyes / cease to be sexy.

I begin with the soul, that escape / artist, that meme.

When Moses led / the senseless run toward the waters, I pulled / the reins to slow my horses. But then the sea / diverged itself into two walls and stood / as if held by glass.

The trees of evening are filled, a sieve of leaves and small birds, the resident choir offering an evening orison of twitter. But look! high on the power line a singular sentinel robin conducts the evening’s benediction of western light glittering across the bay, between the islands, all the way to Canada.     Luci…

Summer already fading, out of the question. Light / arrives at an oblique angle. Scatters of rain. Yet here / we are, alive and attentive

It’s the taste of that first sip / of coffee, rich and strong, the Mr. Coffee cup warmer / on your desk. It’s having the right pen.

And then the angel pulled, just slightly, / on one of the threads / composing the linen / the painter had tacked to his stretcher.