Thirty years ago there was a golden sun /
Whose light fed a pear tree
Poetry
Rites of Return
The coots came home the week the bombs began./
The dark dimples of their bodies/
rested in the divots of the ripples
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