Mud / / in abundance spatters every / coat. These low and lively clouds / fill the world with their scuttle
Maybe the kingdom of / heaven curves inward, like four front teeth, gnawing
on that very dark, very icy / winter night in the woods
He knew he would soon find / them trying to sneak back into / the garden, lusting after sweet / berries, succulent pears, jewel- / brilliant pomegranate seeds.
You’d swear an egg / cracked ever so gently, the white seepage, / yolk rivered to your ears.
There’s that moon again, February moon, / moon in Pisces, Valentine’s Day moon.
Dear lady / of the eight legs, dame / of dry wit and outsize determination / descend / your self-spun line / and hear us.
It came to be widely believed that we were Something’s experiment, in which case the stars and the trees and the grass and the birds knew everything we wished to know.
Let’s drink to / what can be socketed, shadow / to wall, mouth to an ear. The moth / still on the windowsill is only / / a little death.