It’s very cold in the poem. All I have is the rhythm of my legs—spondaic—with an italic of gimp. And some mud. God might
Hip of desert, curve of pelvis, a towering mountain, layers of land, angled rock, river wide as I am long. There are infinite
We overstayed at the neighbors’— two hours instead of the one-and-done we’d planned. Blame the conversation, fire in the wood stove, the March
Our only friends in the new apartment building are in their late 80s. They pour cocktails every day at four. Sal offers martinis punctuated