This year is different from all other years. The flowers I sew together seem ready to slip suddenly into a deep green pool the palm of my hand. Sidewalk cracks widen when I approach like opening eyes. Trees take their breasts from their…
(a block from my childhood house ran the tracks; a nut-canning factory sat beside them, with a groundcover of crushed nutshells. I used to dream the trains got off the tracks and ran through the streets at night–) We are the crows. We stroll between railroad tracks, trading…
Astoria on the Northern brow of Oregon those pioneer names The Columbia, the Willamette still pulse out to sea The sun is but a moment older eyes closed only slightly more to all the rags and rages of the dangling stairstep days.
To Glen I. Out into the desert into tall night the family comes walking sad Okies, books’ images filming over their skins Invisible amoebas of words with slipping colors Not here, the family no brothers no father no desert boots…
We are trees together sleeping, exhaling shadows felled into cupped silence; our fluting has impassioned cows by moonlight. Banana slugs have lusted for our fingers, we have dug green stone from an ocean cliff. It shattered into white…
Once upon a time, in a faraway land, in a middling-poor town, in the middle of a vast desert, two little Princesses were born, not entirely by mistake, into a very poor family. In fact, their mother was a Queen and their father a King, but all were under an…
I will live in a small hovel In the midst of life And be a gypsy/mystic/poet constantly. I will always wear a smock and sandals My braided hair swinging Around my knees Forever kept shining by fog and…