snippets from the past few days the snowdrops have been stepped on by some unwary foot - they are closer now to mud than to sky - but the crocus persists and the daffodils are showing their greening tips I had to side-step several puddles of blood on the sidewalk outside the office one morning … Continue reading 2.12.2015


these things cannot yet be called memory - too fresh, too new, too aware of their own being to be relegated to the corners of ponderous afternoons how that spring you sprouted, sudden and furious in the sanctum of breast, winnowing tendrilled assurances around and about these willing ribs until my breath became as entangled … Continue reading 2.10.2015


and the pain was a hook she had swallowed - a bright, relentless sun which burned beneath her heart without the relief that ash would bring - and the heat rising up from her throat carried with it the most fervent prayer for darkness that the sky had yet heard - so frightening that the … Continue reading 1.22.2015


Some broken things, in the right light, still shine. And in a perfect wind, the fragmentary might fly. But mostly we forget this and gather too closely the sharp edges to our chest - seeking solace in those pieces that are left.

down east

it was late November when I drove toward Maine I still hear how the wind tore across the highway, rattling doors and nearly blowing that tired red Buick into the frozen ditch I had second, third - hell sixth thoughts on the other side of the state line, but I kept right on - forward … Continue reading down east