in the garden of Eden
sundial, of stone and bronze, wasting, weathered green, measurer of time in years; doomed to erode; and YET, the iris comes but for days, yet ...
tween the heart and NYC
only love poems and other complaints; “teach me where the apostrophe goes, the comma and why the question mark is curved and dotted like my ...
where we are
little could I imagine then that poetry would pick me at all, especially to write of words in dialects I don’t speak, but imaging their ...