Jays
are back
blue & flashy & loud
arguing
with ravens
all around town.
The beach
is littered with glass
sharp-edged
stones, broken
crockery
shells, rain
from a slate
sky.
Today I nearly swallowed
a lady bug.
It was harsh
& pungent
a bitter
taste on my tongue.
I walked
to the end
of the road, dogs
geese
the sea
a garden of huge cabbages, gulls
crying
on the water.
I came home wet and steaming.
Continue reading "What Does Love Want?" »

Jenni asks:
1. Where did you get your blog's name from?
2. How is it representative of your life, personality, or writing?
3. If you had to change the name of your bog, what would be an alternative title?
And I say:
- I was thinking about writing on
water, the impermanence, the ephemeral quality of all writing.
I saw
the mineral line on a crystal water glass; all that was left of the
water that once filled it.
I thought of the high-water line on a
coastal cliff, or the tide line on a sandy beach (that line my dog would
not cross; though she loved the beach, she hated wet feet.)
I thought
of my tiny garden pond, the goldfish, and the verb to ponder.
- All of the above.
- This is difficult. Pool, perhaps?
Continue reading "Naming" »

First one must find a concept
large enough to contain the entire
city: Saffron, perhaps, or Gate.
The horse pulls its head into
its neck, making its body an
S below the gibbous moon.
Cover the river in grey silk. Let
the building reinvent itself
in soft satin curves. Owls
resent this impersonation
of their essence, feathers
cloaking coldness and no
blood. Let mice run beneath
the strutted floors, the gilded
ceilings arched like stars over
nothing. Nothing in this sky
is identified, so let it be
that.
Continue reading "Christo" »
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