September labored ripe with heavy moon,
died in the delivering of autumn.
The blue heron's left the river
...
Spring breeze shakes lose
ash seeds. I spiral into
their dance of disconnection.
...
Follow the ravens who gather
in the weeping willows.
Silent and starving
...
Spring breeze shakes lose
Ash seed. I spiral into
their dance of disconnection.
...
You say the gods packed up and left,
stripped the trees of zinc and spit
green into the waters
...