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Poetry

writing home

the small-birds have finally found the window feeder and the dogs are enthralled with their sudden proximity we are well, though feeling the spring in our bones – that gentle eruption debuts a new brand of restlessness the boards of the porch have been too damp for comfortable reading, and coffee for now is confined … Continue reading

Poetry

the skill of forgetting

the skill of forgetting – more than a little like whittling – slow and methodical, always the blade pointed away from a body, lightly curled over the casually dwindling medium those of us who have become proficient at this have learned even to hum a bit – something slightly off-key, off-kilter, with words long ago … Continue reading

Poetry

this is how

this is how things end then – with dancing, and a ruined heart unexpected and yet somehow not, since this is you afterall this is an emptiness that cannot redeem itself with waiting but I’ve grown used to thorns, have almost forgotten the fireflies, have known always that the flames could be turned to strike … Continue reading

Poetry

say amen

who gives a damn, anyway? say amen and then try to forget the shape of the hands you carved your heart to fit there were just too many small holes to forgive the hymn left to sour the edge of your tongue was never hallelujah although we tried so hard to make it so but … Continue reading

Poetry

what matter what light

what is there left to make of this diminished light? is this benediction? or a requiem rung from empty throats? what use in evading the day’s extinction? it is vespers, and the cantor marks an inescapable terminus what matter what light is left to us? for while there is any light at all, benedicimus! benedicimus … Continue reading

Poetry

tell me

tell me what happened after you left – of the intimacies that died absent of ceremony, without song the days since have been a procession of ponderous silences, so close together it has been impossible to speak between them the things that should really rather be shouted into the cavity created, refined to echoes – … Continue reading

Poetry

opposite love

on mornings when I am my opposite self, I do not tuck myself into the chair and do not sip cautiously at the too hot, too sweet, too dark coffee from my un-favorite cup I do not gaze out at the un-regalness of the crow pine and most certainly do not recall with satisfaction, or … Continue reading

Poetry

the reason why

if I needed a reason to pace the floor, pass by the door a fifth, tenth, fourteenth time, to check the gas, to raise the windows, to create just a little more space for the dark to slip into if I needed a reason to count the passing dogs with impatient owners hurrying them home, … Continue reading