It was evening, it was morning . . . Genesis 1:31 Yesterday, we gardened side by side—he, a circle pressed into the earth, me
The lost poems are riding lost trains north, carried on rails nailed to cross ties cut from disappeared chestnut forests—tracks torn-up long ago. They
(a Golden Shovel after Lana Del Ray) Listen. The only way to swim is to kiss. / There is no moving through, only towards.