between the rushing crescendo                & decrescendoof wind, I hear birds on boughs calling         mama mama                           mama !my own hallucinations resonate with the day’s

  the passing of time will always bethe laughter of the point striking me                after a dangerous winterwhen I was so deep in my coffee that I thought      I'd drown in its molasses depthsit struck me when the maple ov

she started a storyshe was sure she could finishone of delirious phenomenaand a deep fishing holeshe wore a jacquard coatand a white top hathe was in the kitchenstirring up a borschtunder puffs of cottonblackening into thunderclouds – after red bee

if wind had a face it would return gold coins to the tongues of the dead —its slender sibling would shiftthe shore's fine reeds into a dancing skirt for my littlest sisterwho raises her cupto the full moon milkinga river of cows —wade the river a

a woman near a window ledgebalances her babyon the elbow she directs towards breadmakersrabble shakers towards little girls who point toesto the sunsheets and shirts float without a clotheslinethe lion’s alliance is crumbling –        it

the blues in our lives are both the deepest and most transparent      I once got an F in art for trying to watercolor the three-dimensional blue of twilight     for attempting a rainbow around the moon      I might die happy eating f