What is it that you don’t see about omniscience, can’t wrap your sight around? Sure, the point of point of view is murky on
The broken yellow line disappears into the dark ahead. My rear-view mirror— boundless black, trapped in our mother’s womb, each other’s arms. Trapped in
I never dream of winter woods, though there is space enough for us here, clear air fit for exhaling into mist, whistle-thin around my
What rewards the body the body a soldier / the body a name / a holiness before sleep. Say you understood / say nettles