Magazine

I fear my husband thinks he's the archangel Gabriel. Nighttime is when such things can happen.

Five specks in V-formation move in smooth approach. The sun transmits a flushed alarm, thin flames of tangerine among the crests.

After the illness struck, those who lived near enough gathered to bury the child.

A downed oak, toppled by time, pithless log leveled, imploding, rotting edifice under blown snow ...

Rococo branches' scribbled bliss (to skies of cirrus filtering streaking-linen grace ...

I felt such freedom, when they had departed.

In dreams an island looms in silhouette and speaks through the outline of a mouth and murmurs ...