woven angst strangle/ intervene thought relieving// grasp dragging suffocate/ abnormal squirm wallow// tread

When Kevin was in kinder there was a terrarium in his classroom. His teacher Susan kept a praying mantis in it, and

On the library third floor/ three works of art converse./ A rust belt photograph of abandoned buildings,/ empty

It’s freezing outside. I’d say my fingers feel like icicles, but the truth is, I can’t feel them at all, they’re so numb.

In shade from the hot Spring sun, I try/ to count the colours round these walls/ but lose myself in the tumbling

mirror, mirror,/ in the hall/ age comes to us all,/ and looks wither/ through the play/ of years slipped away,/ away

Gloria stands up on her bike, using all her 125 pounds to propel her up the hill, past the fire hall— the pride of

Charred trees stand still/ The baggage is too strong/ With the smoke drifting over the paddock,/ carbon

Through an open window/ he hears the warm clip of conversation/ from a neighbour’s garden,/ and, though he

Night descended,/ On my little blue quilt,/ Of seas and shadows,/ And a beetle shuffling through the woods

The seagulls glided along the waves as the water flapped against our boat. The journey was rough and exciting

Green curtain of the polar light/ falls on boreal forests/ so wide/ the taiga, so infinitely far the horizon,/ unattainable

Clear and austere stands the embracing air;/ trees stretch their bronze-gold branches,/ wine winds purple

Might is/ Something/ Born/ I have known to observe/ At a stranger/ During my entire/ Life.// I have known

Ancients – pre-delusion – were part/of Nature with wolf instincts plus/knack for creating tools/weapons.

Anxiety is the bluebird/through air rippling sounds/of all flags in my ear,/finding my shoulder// A voice from

The sky walks into a bar./ The sky?/ What sky?/ The sky walks into a bar?/ No, this guy. T-h-i-s

Nothing matched the pain/ in my neighbor’s eyes/ when he told me/ his grandson died suddenly:/ “Of an

Render unto Caesar, sayeth the taxman,/ his face like a final demand,/ his face like a stormy Monday

Our daughter Jasmine grew troublesome that year. She complained about school, talked about boys, and