A knife which knows its own name
acts in accordance with its nature
& will turn on its wielder in time.
A stubborn seed taken root,
tangled like fingers. Hope
burns like a forest fire.
A mirror, inevitably.
Thin as a thought and
thick as a writ.
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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