Offshore, the expanding light of dawn is saying nothing again.
My eyes, when I rub them like this, say they want to see stars.
I'm waking in Brockport to the smell of late
breakfast and a somewhat overdue spring. This pantheist land
says it will [...]
Last winter I picked four oranges each
night from the tree outside the kitchen door.
Each morning I squeezed the oranges,
poured the juice into our clear glasses,
rested my elbows on the clear
surface of the glass table, looked
through the table at y [...]
Setting these trees on fire would be redundant.
The flamboyán is a beautiful arsonist dressed
again for some impending destruction. Intrigued,
willing to risk whatever safety they've
found in their incognito days, whole towns come
back to life [...]