When he arrived, / I pushed him backward into the cold waters of the earth. / We stared at each other through that dark glass, // and I held him there until his eyes closed, until the dead / came into view, until the darkness at the edges of his robes / became fingers reaching for his hem.
light meets a tangle of leathery leaves, / gnarled branches partition the wind, mandibles scissor, cuticle // disappears, debris falls steadily upon the sere understory.
One day with no eyes, no nose, no ears, / another day without a throat, / the skin on your forehead cracking, sinking, / obscuring the wheat field of your reeds.
This is the only creed I’m willing to / say I believe: all church / basement rooms smell of stale / graham crackers, sadness and glue
She wasn't sure about heaven, / but she believed in birds. / On walks she’d stop to watch / a skein of geese
a fish / finds its way / up my line / and into my mind, / whispers / to me
slip off those little red mary janes / the detested damp socks / edged in chafing lace
No more lilies under tungsten / to align a dead end run— / wild with river trap
The heroes have autographed the table again / with their glasses, rings of condensation / in looped cursive circles that interrupt / / each other’s epics.