On the road today, complete with existential dust, September unfurling her mums and pillowed hills, I saw three dead animals: a raccoon with bloody
Thin fog, cloud paste. The day is a stretch of longing. Camphorous smoke rises from the mouths of golden lions. Once again, it is
—for Denise Last night you sent me longing. Then I couldn’t sleep. I remembered a campfire, someone burning a finger, the smell of wood