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"In Praise of Mystery: a Poem for Europa"
...
O second moon, we, too, are made
of water, of vast and beckoning seas.

We, too, are made of wonders, of great
and ordinary loves, of small invisible worlds,
of a need to call out through the dark.

Crow's-Feet
...I'm holding some wild
idea of unity, conviction, like a jar

of pollywogs, so carefully carried,
so full of potential, live, live, I say

quietly to the far, which isn't a jar
but my own pounding invocation,

I am not fading, but becoming
ungovernable. ...

"The hurting kind"
I have always been too sensitive, a weeper
from a long line of weepers.

I am the hurting kind. I keep searching for proof.