Spring
The water is running, its sound
Kane, Donna
Surrender
On the roof, snow loosens its grip
Late Summer Hatch
Through the security checkpoint, I'm frisked.
Sunset, July
A chip of orange light glitters
So There
Each day you nap on the couch, and there's an increasing blankness to it
The Stone Caterpillar
On his bookcase, an ammonite,
Current Issue: No. 301
