The coots came home the week the bombs began./
The dark dimples of their bodies/
rested in the divots of the ripples
Poetry
Mexico
At Tenochtitlan, the sun beat down harshly / The sweltering heat made the gravel and sand swim and go hazy
Pollen
I don’t have anything happening to me that hasn’t already muddled its way through you.
Anthropocene Angel
Little moments of beauty and cruelty that excite its angelic tendencies
The Civilizing Process
Since the civilizing process began most of us came to breathe by decree and not in the grace of our mothers
Middle Age
my grandfather came to me in a dream and held my hand with his calloused fingers to remind me I had not, in fact, crawled from a crack in the earth but belonged here