Psaltery & Lyre



As It Is on Earth

Is it finally fair to say like gods / we make images to pour ourselves into?

Three Poems

My sister casts buttons through / her window—they shadow / / like pills into small ponds / of late winter ice.

Two Poems

like a book left open in the rain; pages wrinkle, / rip and fall before their ambiguities are read.

Meridional overturning

In the freezing season, the lacerated places breed / / bright ice in matrices and lattices, glittering, / highballing.

Two Poems

You carry it in on your palm-stretcher, / a brittle-spit, a kicked-out life-in-a-stick, / / all stuttering beak and shattered spindle, / like a rickety dollhouse staircase.

Two Poems

Remember how we used to love? / / The way our hearts were rough-hewn / and rabbeted together like the shiplap / on the barn out back


Dare the wish you dare to wish on morning’s last star: / That every creature be mated and warm, / every couple coupled and quickened

The Prodigal Son Makes Notes for a Eulogy and Never Mentions the Fatted Calf

I would rather lose him than remember lies. Loss is real and heavy / and as hard to carry and balance as a shuttle of slack coal

“How Do We Sense the Sensational?”

We want bright lights. / We want a voice / of god, or reason, recent studies / / roaring in our heads

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