Yes—alone, I could stop for anything.
Fossil bed at a river’s wrist. Hello
aoudad on Blue Mountain, javelina
gnawing cactus. Stinky the cat hiding
in a closet. Every bee takes an hour
and that hour is the bee’s. Vultures braid through ...
Trucks shuffle in the slow lane.
Mt. Shasta’s a crazy white cone.
I drive as fast as I dare.
Car my shelter, my tiny house ...
The 5, the 101, the 10
Suavecito for President
A funeral procession out of City Terrace
No ICE on the overpass ...
Three weeks after my husband's cremation
I cancelled the contract
with the exterminator.
Now, I share a home with arthropods.
They teach me to inhabit
hollow spaces. Their movements expand
each room. An ant scurries ...
Steve speaks slowly, and because he is the
Housing Association President,
he also speaks in detail, willing nothing ...
Plumes of dust. Forming. Dancing. Dissipating.
A lone dust dancer lingers. ...
Never much good at judging distances
or my own physical strength, I imagine
this morning that I could swim across
the Mississippi, be in Illinois by lunch.
I can see it clear from here; the grass
you’d be surprised is just as brown yet
still it’s humming: other. O! to emerge ...
Grateful for the Poplar Tree (1988)
Spring is Monolingual (2004)
Choir for Private People (2010) ...