The day you leave for a trip on which you’ll drive treacherous mountain roads alone for hours, I rehearse losing you, absurd gesture, useless
Puget Sound Evening calms to a wren-song. All day, clouds build, quick rain— thunder beyond dark Oregon hills—last drops still rattling down through old
From Phrasebook for the Pleiades, winner of the 2012 Cider Press Review Book Award The last ferry leaves and I watch it become a
Before the cake there were eggs and flour. I sang as I beat one egg into another to make a yellow foam. Back to