Occasionally I pine for a mild disaster such as a really loud cough of thunder
You find the cracks for me—the small space / behind the triangle of peeling wallpaper, / / the crevice in the plaster, the air between / one page and the next. O Lady, show me / / the hidden.
Your Godmother, Almost Blind, / crochets away / the news / of your day.
What terrified and destroyed when the earth sought to shed its skin.
There are his sacred hearth / and his household gods
But She can’t help / this rainbow: strong / / at both ends, / every color equally / present.
It’s evening at my writing desk and both these spaces / are a silence, the dimly-lit expanse of years stretching one / / after another.
If I lost you in a forest if / like a fox you went under / / ground its own earth / another world
according to some jesus is the pilot of a / pimped-out flying saucer according to / some jesus plays fiddle like a fiend / possessed