You are an emptiness, an absence,
the silence where song used to be,
morning light with no shadow cast,
diminished by years, by distance.
He presses at the edges of memory
without knowing, without seeing how
ache grows when given enough space,
how your ghost billows between us,
how his shine makes me long
for your sharpness.
For my friend on the occasion of her wedding. What I know of mirrors is their imperfection, their imbalance of mathematics: one reflects one, & we imagine this is wholeness & we believe we know oursel
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 keen, nor compelling, not enough, not when you already know how
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. There is no revelry in roots no matter how deep they run, only f