untitled
in the morning everything opens
poetry
of storms
I can see the tall nun at the centre
Black Swans
This photograph, if posed the way they'd wanted
untitled
How is it I can go
Elegy
Along the east wall of the house
Learning to Count on Something (in 9/4 Time:)
I remember being seven when
Rimbaud at Marseilles
His infant lust after language:
Eroica
Sounds like it was recorded
In May, While My Sisters
navigated that corridor of treeless pasture,
Grandfather Harrows the Garden with Horses
Potatoes grow well after corn.
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