once you’ve given it your own name.
Category: forest
Blue blood
belongs only to those with no need for veins, like a wanderlust that starts where the highway ends.
Winter is a protection racket
not unlike the skin disease once known as the king’s evil that could only be cured by a king’s touch.
These mountains
are full of hollows and riddled with mines: a geography of loss.
The way my skin cracks in winter
maybe I’ll molt.
Ask a vintner or a fromager:
few things are more festive than decay.
icy road
leaving the car in the care
of the low sun
The forests of my earliest childhood
are evergreen.
Lay me in a fist-sized hole
feathered with rime.
mountaintop pond
the blind dog lapping
at her reflection
Neurons take a dendritic form
to maximize their receptivity to the lightning of thought.
Let’s be honest:
we were adrift long before we were at sea.
