If I look
with my head
pressed to the wooden table,
and if the light
from a warm, April afternoon,
(me and the wood)
If I look
I can see myself,
in the table,
in the wooden
(its faint outline-long and German)
I am there,
if only for an
- ► 2017 (91)
- ► 2006 (17)
- two fathers
- I did not appreciate her until I left. I did not k...
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- born to catch butterflies on her tongue
- Running toward the blackened horizon, the sky is n...
- Her white skin, pure, soft, lightens the night. Br...
- Mother's Ashes
- a letter
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- With ebony hair, black skin offsets tight, dark cu...
- Laurel, MT
- watching my mother in the morning
- For Claire
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- If I look closely, with my head pressed to the ...
- The softness of every summer night, for the rest ...
- late one night
- Rain begins to fall. I hold her in my arms. The...
- C'est la vie
- ▼ February (28)