The 9th of August I water echinacea and watch melons grow. I find the scattered feathers of Turkeys in the morning, and the blood dripped dried below. I watch infinity’s strata unfold as keets corralled amass and grow into spotted Guinea Fowl. I recall, remember, am reminded of the depth of space, the tininess of
Tagbirds
Birth of the Blue Heron
Dark, dark my light, and darker my desire. My soul, like some heat-maddened summer fly, Keeps buzzing at the sill. Which I is I? A fallen man, I climb out of my fear. The mind enters itself, and God the mind, And one is One, free in the tearing wind. “In a Dark Time” By
“The city will always pursue you”
“The city will always pursue you” The wooden porch, the bird feeder in the crabapple tree, the screen door with holes in it, a warped tupperware container filled with cough syrup and cayenne pepper that I, age seven, stir carefully with a wooden spoon. “Are you making potions?” my dad asks as I spritz the