Poet Laundry

  A thousand trees from sunset, each with a hand held out our windows   cupping an apricot wind, a warm pine breeze combs through ou...

  It fell so early.   Or late, depending on how you look at it.   We’d not lived in the house for a full year, but storms don’t wait until...

    If not for the twig-nest of our twined fingers,   and the threefold cord we’ve kept to cup   in prayer long midnight...

  When pain escapes, it’s a relief.   Like when my mom describes my grandma’s passing,   her body gripped by pain for so man...