Near Sacrament

Sometimes, it is a dream: the robin’s slick song paring back the morning—                                     Continue reading

Sitting Shiva

If you find the bones of a bear, sit down and stay with them. The dead desire our company. Touch each one—scapula, tibia, ulna—even the tiniest bones of the hind and Continue reading

His Eye on The Sparrow

I guess black people can write about flowers at a time like this since every poem turns on itself. Starts one way to end another. We see it in nature, too. Continue reading

Choir hive

Against white sky, the birch tree opens its many dark                         mouths. She hears its words, golden river under snow. Continue reading


the mother stands at the kitchen sink. knife in gloved hand, she removes the fish scales with the discipline of her calendar, with the swiftness of her cursive. her gloves are Continue reading