Water striders walk / on fluid skin, feet / faintly bending surface, / push-back propelling
When someone says broken / family they mean broken / like a promise, like a bone, / like a dish.
O, Lady of the Masks, tell me: / how are your hands holding up / / as you gently push the pedal, control / the needle, hum a soft tune to no one
how can I, how can I / is not what the songbird said / but something similar
The only place for a lonely woman / is kneeling in front of TV
Our day starts at four in the morning, / or maybe that’s when the last one ends.
unlatched the stars / shaking the meadow’s blanket, edifying / / the only fig tree / / for miles of field
She sits on her haunches, arms resting / on her knees, a shawl about her / made of whatever you see—cloud, / sheepskin, rough-spun wool, draped / seaweed.
Driving the narrow / two-lane between / Saginaw and Lansing / in late autumn, / past fields frozen in harvest furrows