With thick strokes of ink the sky fills with rain.
Pretending to run for cover but secretly praying for more rain.
...
"The Sailor cannot see the North—but knows the Needle can—"
The books were all torn apart, sliced along the spines
...
Lost in the summer afternoon
The house's upper floors disappear
...
You wanted to be so hungry, you would break into branches,
and have to choose between the starving month's
...
My father had a steel comb with which he would comb our hair.
After a bath the cold metal soothing against my scalp, his hand cupping
my chin.
...
How struck I was by that face, years ago, in the church mural:
Eve, being led by Christ through the broken gates of Hell.
...