I crouched low to examine a red beetle...
The Red Beetle
Aubade
The criers of dawn are not birds, chattered among black limbs and leaves...
Sand
And now a great plume of Saharan dust has crossed and circles the Caribbean...
Compass
Just begin at the tall end of a creek. Cling to the bank.
Rain
Some trees turn their leaves when it rains — belly up.
Hare
I became a baby hare this morning, propelled myself into the long grass with my new fat haunches and waited, a heartbeat beyond teeth —
Terns
We never saw the pump that drained the lagoon. We only saw fish, drowning as fish. And when the tide broke over the sand bar, the fish rose like rafts, and there were terns — so many terns — then the grey iridescence of scales under moonlight. Image: Carlos Galindo on Unsplash
From the Opposite Side of Mourning
I do believe that the body craves what it needs — whether it be a few dry nuts or fruit or the starched lips of old loves however ill-conceived. Image: Maksim Shutov on Unsplash
After the Storm
I could not help but stare at the moon’s last quarter, tangled in mesh, seined, pursued then quickened as Saturn and Jupiter remained still and some ways off. The driveway is littered with branches, leaves, and the dirt bitters of worms are acrid-wise — commonplace. The cracked Earth swells, maybe becomes whole again. Image: Dave... Continue Reading →
