Fever pummels as carabiners clack, and humming cables sway magnificent in buried branches low and far below. Danger is not dropping to the ground in lieu of gliding down. Fear is the menace here, freezing synapses, stopping impulses that guide the limbs, impeding gravity that slides the body […]
He wore a pellegrina, purple trimmed. It looked like wings deflated by transgression
Swarm of gnats tumbling, sounds, not theirs, teasing. Someone talks, compact tones
Sodden earth, pungent with filaments of green, musky fragrance wavers
I am still a planchet, a flan waiting to be struck, annealed with heat, then cold, so much cold. Still
Abandoned Lock Canals, they ran like veins across tree-hooded land, pumping hope, surging grit,
Out of winter’s chaos, on this wind-bound bay, moss, wild rye and yarrow
Happy, hurried, unmolested, daytime stroll on city streets.