Walking

what you told me about the fig tree

first the story: mark and the others chanced upon the tree, but it did not bear fruit. so the disciples went hungry, and jesus cursed the tree, and the fig tree withered and died. second: you are the impotent tree, the circumstances the winter, and i am mark, who will not be fed. you tell … Continue reading what you told me about the fig tree

sonnet to the hummingbird

small heart, why do you explode against yourself each dewy morning? I yearn to stroke each feather that folds backwards in your tightened skin. does each rib expand in heat as you shudder through the air? in the garden, beyond the honeysuckles, my eyes trail your swirling flight. my skin is taut over my bones, … Continue reading sonnet to the hummingbird

close proximity to a god of the industrial workforce

me and god, we took three trains to get from one side of the city to another in those long rambling railway hours we exchanged the words of               lovers oh ! but god’s                                  … Continue reading close proximity to a god of the industrial workforce

Anatomy of Observation

Open up your coffers and caress air Rugged waters and minerals leap to grasp peach skies Remember the geometry of birds was never meant to appeal to you. You, small observer, trust these blissful aromas.   Unfold the machinery of your heart. Cosmic stories are written into the spaces you’ve forgotten to fill. Below the … Continue reading Anatomy of Observation

Old Lyme

Someone in the classroom has written their report on Lyme disease, and speaks with earnest gravity about prevalence, arthritis, the climate, guinea fowl. Talented birds: they hunt lawns, peck at the stone walls, eating ticks like potato chips. The presenter calls this the urban legend of Martha’s Vineyard. Now we look back at the deer, … Continue reading Old Lyme

Sun

Back before I knew the politics of walking with your chin up When I was bright eyed and 20/20’d I’d sneak to the outer orbit of the playground nestle myself between the comets and leftover kickballs and watch the sun sing itself purple Like a tuning fork wobbling into place, The sun would sway somewhere … Continue reading Sun