That ache Not a longing for someone That long press on the soul Not a desire for a perfect day Not one of these things that seem obvious That neither…
It always starts this way the first in a long line of firsts or nexts as the thing may be waiting for the ink to spiral into lines into something like…
Now I understand why his father slept on the couch at sleepovers: he didn't intend to go to sleep, he fell asleep watching TV—there's a difference. One…
I cannot help the man lift the flower of his head against whatever force makes him stumble
And in the end we came through it all— the danger didn't stretch taut enough to snap back on us and sting But still the sleepless nights the hours spent…
Something about white snow on brown trees clinging like blankets to a bed of nails— a softness like pillows over stone floors ribbons tying bundles of…
I sit up and gasp as if breathing stops with sleep and I need to suck in air to move Something big and dark and nameless cracking trees like twigs…
I must remember these things that make me human. In my soft rush to get ahead for a chance to be myself I must stop and listen for the sound of oars in…
The lake / feels like the edge of the world, the ice / on the water nothing more than stepping stones / to the great stepping-off into...
If there is an hour of coldness in me it is because I have loved because I have confused pain for whimsy because the summer sun can only hide winter for…
As each fell ocean churns over a new mountain, so must each of us rely: We must leave our homes intact. All about us is fog—amorphous secrets and a…
It collects like feathers of moonlight into the low sunless valleys of the past into the places where the light is so weak it leaves behind ice when the…