that the brushes on the bottle-brush bush could not be redder, that a hummingbird looks in through the window screen, that both my arms
I do not want to kill them but I would. You would too– if you’d grown up learning to measure the shadow on the
Mice came in early this year and brought their relatives as if they are a relocated city replete with suburbs and shopping centers, such
Up before sunrise, the air chill, eight of us march in silence, lenses shielded from morning dew, heading for a grove of banyan trees.