The birds here
Have not changed
They drop salt not seeds
Into my open mouth
Now—my back bare to the sky
Breasts buried in soil
Thrust into the darkness of this
Searching out each star
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September 23, 2020
A poem listens
to both rooms from the middle
ground of its title, the threshold strip
to both rooms from the middle
ground of its title, the threshold strip
September 16, 2020
An exhibit was all you wanted
and me to lay close
my face
like a film behind a curtain
and me to lay close
my face
like a film behind a curtain
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