ISSUE: Spring 2013
I say to the lily asphodel,
onionweed—
How do you bear so much love
in this raw glow?
Blackberries
and bees swarm against our home.
Night carries an odor of the Mojave
flowing down from the high desert.
Full moon ails with a gouged eye,
and the sea, with its cool upwelling,
tosses and turns to the west.
What must I do to earn a living
on this Earth? I confess the one
who perished and was buried
rose again. Angels and stones
quaked
to yield new April light.
