I hold the seeds/ between my teeth,/ squeeze till the/ slightest of juices/ eases on tongue.

Bedtime but abruptly interrupted by the scuff/ of a manilla envelope being clumsily shoved/ underneath

Snow does not turn to rain along the coast,/ and green fields are enough to feed the hungry.// The

In the small French town/ In the mountains/ On the winding streets/ Narrow and beguiling/ With shadows

the last autumn - bee/ just before epiphany/ beehive fulfilled?/ bee looking at fall/ in the beehive – wings

Moaning in the cries of dove,/ house sparrows and low clouds fill in/ not two-toned,/ but grey all the

Being alive on this planet/ means acknowledging that all things/ were once something else./ That sponge

The cycle repeats. Crickets sing their songs,/ Gleaming stars pose against obsidian sky,/ The universe

thick energy beckoned/ to cross into untamed woods/ its pull, a shadowy cove/ of forbidden shudder

It also has no hands. And no digital flip. It does have a face, but it’s your face, going plaid with wrinkles, your dry

along saffron sands/ a braid of footprints/ as dark as cumin/ ribbon her solitude/ where she swims

Time’s a cliché in our pages./ Or a timeless theme./ Or both./ Four and twenty hours, gents and ladies

They say the pink, dangling manifesto at the back/ of the throat speaking words that often cry

If the universe were as vast/ As the glad imagination of/ A five year old boy drawing/ Dinosaurs at his kitchen

Buried in a black robe/ Keeping her head down/ She enters the classroom/ Like a dark cloud

I stood in awe/ hearing unseen things;/ the wind spoke, hissed,/ and scratched my door.// I grew frightened

As it happens/ early on// the following morning/ we escape/ within a small boat// into the mountains

Parchment severs/ the high drifts of morning/ as fire’s keen grasp/ only begins/ to subside./ Over retching

A crisp-rind new moon/ slices open old memories/ that bleed out starlight.// Walking over snow

Swallowed by the sick fluorescent glow/ of a computer screen all day,// I stare at my supermarket lilies—