Goodnight, cow jumping
You could always ask who
poetry
Battery Park
At dawn, the grey line of water
Flood
My orders simple: build this thing you've no name for
The Open Air
Thrwo a ball up there, into
Charlotte St.
So much the same, we fight to be different
Indian Summer
Year follows year, meadowhawk dragonflies
Lingua Botanica
Word in place of tulips, white-tongued syllables.
Scavenger
Not sure what I'm worth--something, anyway.
Inventor
It's three, the window a dark envelope.
Devil's Paintbrush
In my slow-burning archive orange hawkweed
Pages
Current Issue: No. 301
