They lean over balconies, strain to hear through thick silence, dangerously close to the edge of sky and star, where time smudges into forever, they

There is no beginning, only continuation of the utterance. Breath into breath, spilling out beyond breath into being, form unfolding, the utterance behind all existence.

Here, there’s no circle, only the spiral, endlessly turning back on itself. No straight lines, only curves, coiling, looping. There’s no direct path to the

a found poem Imagine sitting for hours at a slant desk, copying on rough parchment with a sharpened quill, day after lonely day. Of course

Early afternoon in late December: Clouds covering the face of the sun Parted and let light flood the living room, A current picking up carpet

“Like water spilled on the ground, which cannot be recovered …” – 2 Samuel 14:14 In a hospital room of white linen and metal gates

Fir needles like rattling bones. The air a myth that has been told and retold, fading from emerald to onyx. My skeleton soft like honey,

Nine months of darkness, then the sound of scissors and we separate. I thought I’d love you because you were part of me, feathered limb

Like a mat they beat her out, dragged her sorry ass to the court and called for Jesus. Jesus, Jesus. He washed his hands, slipped