As a little girl, the first poems I heard were from the fresh pages of the Shel Silverstein book Every Thing on …
somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond any experience,your eyes have their silence: in your most frail …
The Fish I caught a tremendous fish and held him beside the boat half out of water, with my hook fast in …
( ) death I cause I result in breaking heads along the highway. burial as it fits between transit. buttons make time …
Digging Between my finger and my thumb The squat pen rests; snug as a gun. Under my window, a clean rasping sound …
Spring Smells of Lilacs Early spring is, famously, cruel. The bite of winter is still sharp, even “whan that Aprille with his …