I wondered
What it must be like
To never touch bottom. [Read More]
November Flood
After the flood, the salmon cut
the Wilson River, high and colored up.
Big Seeds
Seeds are no bigger than they were
When our grandfathers planted them.
Our farms are so much larger,
But there is not more land.
Cover Crops
Emiliano was deported
last month.
Today he has returned
and is loading plastic tubs
of cover crops
into a dented white van.
I saw a terrible crash
Out of body I was there Watching it happen Like the man on the TV I saw him shoot himself Every time I saw myself crash The smell of blown airbags Pieces of glass in my teeth I Cut teeth Still finding them in my shoes On these tender feet Weeks later Like my first […]
crows in a wheat field (for Vincent)
in Sun you are weeping dragging last bits of impasto Black across the sky beside you wheat goes on forever golden waves breaking breaking crows gather thick to one side Black like sudden tears they shudder then fly away you hang your head you do not watch them go
Mythos, Pathos, and a Lotus Flower
Baying in sylvan moonlight, intrepid eyes watch as harbingers of sound, spoken word dappled in periwinkle trust, parades flamboyantly, confidently, down horse cobbled streets. [Read More]
Sentences
Minds dip all day into words,
seining food from conversations
and roving stacks of books.
We gather, compose, revise —
slowly meaning more.
[Read More]
Soil of My Soul
Deep in the soil of my soul, I am Me; gritty, earthy, and raw. The heartbeats of my children live there. As do the spirits of lost loves, the hope of eternal life, and the forgiveness that I will someday grant myself. [Read More]
Some thoughts on us, the Wheeler clearcut, and exiled Chilean poets
We are trees Falling in the Forest except there isn’t a Forest there isn’t even a tree, standing or Falling only a clear cut between a question hypothetically asked and our true answer (thank you Roberto Boleno)
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