Sometimes, it's fragility, emptying at a careless crack.
Sometimes, it's a key turning, opening a cabinet of ribs.
Sometimes, it's just too much pressure against the shell,
pushing until the seed splits & spills
newness out & up like shoots, thirsty,
and so we water them.
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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