fog walker the millipede’s carpet of legs
wearing my halo of poison
spring mountain snowdrifts rotting in the sun old coyote scat mouse bones in mouse fur petrichor the dry skin of … More
on my bed
When I was a Buddha, my radiant body rang like a bell.
a gall wasp’s
empty oak apple
gone to seed
who kept giving me forms to fill out.
from all the broken things I tried to fix.
one feels at times barely tethered to the earth.
is like a folded wing. A sleeping face is a dry riverbed with the faint sound of water somewhere below.
feathered with rime.