(incomplete, purpose served)
She saw it before I did:
stillness disguised as grief,
how I held my tears,
how freely they fell,
as evidence of motion.
But mourning demands more than
movement, insisting we move on,
transformative, in truth.
For my friend on the occasion of her wedding. What I know of mirrors is their imperfection, their imbalance of mathematics: one reflects...
For my friend on the occasion of his wedding. No eye for art, you said, and turned toward Hunger, livid color leaving you cold, neither...
It is not Death that watches us with suspicion, yet you invoke Her name anyway, make of Her a boundary, make of me an earthen intimacy....
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