This Thing, This Country
Coaxing this thing into its active voice, filling the void in its purple dusk, requires will power – a kind …
Previous articles
That Day
If that was to be the day: some mist of rain barn swallows darting clouds riled and curdling jack pines …
Turning It Over
Some of us understood when we turned it over and became more intimate with what the day had in store; …
Country Day Photograph
A fading glare lights this lost memory of an afternoon. Lost by everyone in this photograph, drawn through age, turned …
Allies
Television tells us the time of day but confuses the decades, not beyond recognition just out of focus, cataracts in …
Speaking of History
Each thing speaks of itself and in speaking names, refers, connects others into the fabric of things. Each day has its own …
Blackbird
Your grave is empty. Sleep could not lay its silence over the remnants of your body; roam the Earth, enlightened, glistening, …
Penny Thoughts
Blood turns on itself. Body becomes soul, skin so hot, beyond burning, it turns the blue of perfect ice. Hair …
Silence, Confessional
Quiet as shadow in twilight, unnoticed in the world of men, unseen by women. I swallow words until they stop. …
Echo In The Shell
The tide on the beach is a slow, quiet speech. You are here with me to listen. No one can speak …
Poetry on the run 