The faces in Giotto’s Massacre of the Innocents in Scrovengi Chapel, must have been what the faces of mothers in Sarajevo looked like after a massacre during the Siege. They…

The door in the field is held upright by my saying so. Frogs before storm, wind on the rise. The door opens and I still can’t see what lies on…

On the Buda side the gypsies have no one left to steal from. They burn trash at night, sending yellow smoke into the subway. They leave handprints on the tiled…

1979 which the aunts pronounced gowumkee you know cabbage rolls honey and packed into a crockpot pasted all over with pictures of happy brown daisies and then balanced them on…

I want to find the way of the ants, how they build dirt mounds out of human flesh, how they destroy and then carry the little corpses of leaves and…

Toward evening When I grow bored I try to imagine my killer     —“Toward Evening,” Novica Tadić The evil eye was born at the same time as light. Let there be…

The stableboy leads, drives on the chestnut horse. Tears form in the tear ducts of the horse’s eye. In the silent swamp the dry reeds clatter like a pilgrim’s staff.…

“It’s autumn,” I write, and a boat without sails arhythmically scrapes at my heart— as long as it can. All the cards have been played, and the hand-made rock fountains,…

The word ‘bloom’ is a grenade. Pull out the L-pin, and boom.   The dandelion turns into a piñata, confetti blizzard; exploding   is an efficient way to start pollinating.…

Tesla runs away to a high onion-dome chapel     entombing him the night. It is off-season for wobbling pilgrims, affording the child his very own necessity     of dread. Fleeing— the point…

I preferred their 5 am chirps in the rafters to my roommate’s sex groans. But what a lazy renter I was, never climbing the attic for a sight or paging…

I sometimes see a fox from my window: brush of brown, echo of red by the woods— more a suggestion of a fox, shadow of movement. Just when I think…