• April 21, 2014
    Ursula, shot dead, marched the ten thousand
    virgins, just walked them! with the pope in tow
    to say she could or to prove maybe that
    the purity of youth was worth the shock
    of Huns beheading them, each and every
    one, as God’s...
  • April 14, 2014
    You can’t say hand without picturing either a right
    or a left. You can’t think moon without
    seeing it in one of its phases.
    When the arrowheads rise
    to the surface after the winter rains
    you can’t say again. This is a first discovery...
  • April 7, 2014
    Snowflakes surprise us,
    small and aimless as we ourselves,
    so light they sift upwards
    in random puppetry.
    Yesterday we arrived in England
    on the edge of April.
  • March 31, 2014
    At dawn the panther of the heavens peers over the edge of the world.
    She hears the stars gossip with the sun, sees the moon washing her lean
    darkness with water electrified by prayers. All over the world there are those
    who can’t sleep, those who never awaken.
  • March 24, 2014
    It always seems to be night—our floating
    Through darkness, the clouds parted like
    Curtains woefully. We take to twilight
    Like children on the road back from
    Somewhere, past places that are scarcely
    There even in sheer daytime. Lacking
    Trysts, travelers weave their own bare
    Steps out amongst the forest-cleared
    Conundra. Returned to the stars
    Nevertheless, by which other days are
  • September 9-16, 2013
    Furred, the horizons
    are both calling and escaping:
    there must be an edge.
    Near the bases on the prairie
  • March 17, 2014
    for the night, we decide
    we must go now
    while we can.
    New York is sinking,
    we go to Pompei,
    itself a reminder
    that nothing is permanent....
  • March 10, 2014
    Seeing this we fall to our knees. We
    Wouldn’t be willing to stop being
    Human he became willing to stop
    Being wholly of light approachable
    To become human and die as a
    Helpless creature died in that
    Jewish rite so that its drenching
    Blood could besprinkle in its
    Deep cleansing.
    How can we
    Understand this?
    Being human what can we do
  • February 17, 2014
    This ruse, enduring for days,
    will eventually cease, but now
    even the birds mistake him for a log,
    or a stone the fleeting drought
    has lifted above the current.
    Because there is a current, even in this cocoa-dark
  • February 3, 2014
    They have the storm of the century
    every winter in Buffalo.
    Buffalo is like a pilgrim site for snow.
    Buffalo is Capistrano for blizzards.
    Think of the word, “snow-bank.”
    Think of Buffalo as the Federal Reserve.
    Imagine Lake Erie as your in-laws
    and know how Buffalo feels
    every winter during the holidays
    when the in-laws drop over.