Poetry

The lungs of bread are blackened with smoke and heavy machinery weeps…

oh you should see the sparkling light through wet trees…

Start with a simple substitution: let’s take lettuce for sunlight.

It was not the destination but the act of movement I was after…

In my window this morning, above the jagged tree line, a raven chases an eagle…

I lay more wood on your fire, my only source…

I’m stupefied by this clear light slanting into the kitchen…