Shifts: Temporal/Tense Poem

poetry
  Tonight I am tired and will not sleep. There are many dreams I could have had. For instance, as a boy I dreamed about being older, like my brother,…

Her Only Portrait

poetry
  —for Mary Anning (1799-1847)   See the fossilist whose slender finger gives direction to our gaze. Note the dog who guarded Anning’s finds for hours while his mistress sought…

Drinking Alone *

poetry
  独酌 春草如有意 罗生玉堂阴 东风吹愁来 白发坐相侵 独酌劝孤影 闲歌面芳林 长松尔何知 萧瑟为谁吟 手舞石上月 膝横花间琴 过此一壶外 悠悠非我心 Spring grass must feel tenderness To sprout in the Jade Hall’s shade East wind blows in…

For Someone Faraway *

poetry
  寄远 本作一行书 殷勤道相忆 一行复一行 满纸情何极 瑶台有黄鹤 为报青楼人 朱颜凋落尽 白发一何新 自知未应还 离居经三春 桃李今若为 当窗发光彩 莫使香风飘 留与红芳待 I meant to compose a single line To convey my thoughts of you Lines…

A Shell Like an Ear

poetry
  Where a shell like an ear on the sand anticipates autumn’s arrival, and in the half- ruined shrubbery of summer relics, catches its trace. Between cigarette packs and syringes,…

The smallest of songs

poetry
  on a loop inside me. And all day long I am writing you letters. I tell you: I want to be the stone that grinds mustard. All that power.…

The lifespan of a bee

poetry
  my tears bloom yarrows streaming down my cheekbones, fan out disks of pollen that you flock to like fruitful coins you will never spend on your own parched gullet—callous,…

Fragments Approaching Sixty

poetry
  The body, a mitten full of bees. A drawer of angry brooches.The glass half-empty, and I emptied it. A message in a bottle that says you must change your…

Once

poetry
  Once is the number of times someone loved me. I saw my only love through window screens. I only saw my love. Through window screens, A noticing the way…

aubade

poetry
  rain at the window. the searching arms of garden bamboo smear their flat leaves across the glass with each push of wind. my neighbor’s truck starts up in the…

every hollow of the world

poetry
  after the police report, i walked home over frost-killed camellia blooms, thick and meaty underfoot like severed red hands. this isn’t a story about all that. i’m thinking instead…