Again
I stand in a dying field watching
a glitter fall of bird wings
Every change of season I find myself
where flowers wilted. It’s growing old
visits, revisits,...
Our Dead Pancreases
Within my father and me, they are
bellwethers of the body’s ruin.
Pancreases turned inside out–
empty pockets
on the day a bill comes due.
Or maybe
my...
Chez Pierre et Geneviève Pâtisserie
Driving past Chez Pierre et Geneviève Pâtisserie,
the sign alone triggers a craving for croissants—
flaky, caramel‑colored shell, its center
deepened to amber....
Raised Beds
The summer of virus and loneliness,
I’d walk around the raised bed
crammed with basil, dill, and cilantro,
at least three times,
a gesture that felt almost...
Among Remains
The dog who mines springmud for squirrel shards
this morning just stares,in awe or empathy,
a deer skeleton sproutingfrom rain-washed gravel,
scrabble of ribs and spine,scapula...
The starlings are back in coal-smudged November
I watch them murmurate, peck branches, shingles off
a roof. They bulge and brigade against the ground.
We fought again....
