I know enough to know it’s not spring until I see the snowfence coming down. Today, between the highway and the lake orange-vested men
Two early morning snails curl together breathing the end. Their escape from wet grass become impossible they drown around their shells touch with the
I am sure the cavity of my chest is vast—a rabbit hole. I never learned how to swim after falling through the life preserver.
Here’s the way it was: a house in a city near the ocean monstrous rocks jutting out of waves splashing on what little shore