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“I am your little ram,
burying his muzzle in thick grass of your pasture,
folded by you at night, herded by day,
a dedicated dog nipping at my hocks.
The day will come for you to draw
the bright sickle of the moon
across my wooly throat.
Do it with love, without regret.”
― The Earth Avails: Poems
burying his muzzle in thick grass of your pasture,
folded by you at night, herded by day,
a dedicated dog nipping at my hocks.
The day will come for you to draw
the bright sickle of the moon
across my wooly throat.
Do it with love, without regret.”
― The Earth Avails: Poems
“In an early photograph I have, part of the town
goes up in flames – a premonition from the 1880s.
A group of women, corseted, skirts infested with lace,
watch from behind a buckboard as ash flings itself
into the sky. To the right the blur of a girl
rushes away like a ghost. No face. Hardly a form.
Just a hat and a dress, and news of a fire,
though no one is alive who knows her name.”
― The Earth Avails: Poems
goes up in flames – a premonition from the 1880s.
A group of women, corseted, skirts infested with lace,
watch from behind a buckboard as ash flings itself
into the sky. To the right the blur of a girl
rushes away like a ghost. No face. Hardly a form.
Just a hat and a dress, and news of a fire,
though no one is alive who knows her name.”
― The Earth Avails: Poems
“Weeds grew, and I ignored my chores,
while the cat worried her tail of its most plumescent fur.
I saw my body, white as tallow,
my face framed by colorless hair,
noted my appetites, then put them aside,
walked and walked to wear it all away.”
― The Earth Avails: Poems
while the cat worried her tail of its most plumescent fur.
I saw my body, white as tallow,
my face framed by colorless hair,
noted my appetites, then put them aside,
walked and walked to wear it all away.”
― The Earth Avails: Poems
