Lately — and maybe always — I am bewitched by translation and etymology. Both imperfect, curious, spiraling. In their mouths...

if & when I am no longer mortal

On the phone she’ll tell me stories about shorebirds which breed in warmer marshland winters and still cross the continent...

This morning, strolling soddenly down Harmon street, the rain became a sudden shield; with sudden clarity I felt calamity dismissed...

I think often of the apricots & shallots that I diced in your kitchen last year with a knife you...

Third place winner in the Synapse Storytelling Contest poetry category. we moved through the sentence of the crowd, its fork-plate...