Category: Poetry

The Following

The things that stay as memoriesDo not at first make themselves known.Momentous moments wane and fadeWhile seeming trifles haunt our

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The Magic Tree

Perhaps you need a magic tree, Beneath whose branches You can convene your coven, Turn toads to toadstools, and Dispel

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In Memoriam Jim Harrison

Of rough materialitySuch stuff as we are made,Pulled up from stubborn ash,Rendered fully into flesh,Flesh unto flesh,Solid, steady, burning,Tearing through

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White Crane in Green Tree

Old, old breedErect, alert,uncompromising.Refusing any pretextat disguising.While all else fadesto green and brown,blends into dirty forest,she is clean, alone.The full

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Pilgrimage

From another room my mother said“I don’t know what gets into him.”My father’s short responsive shrugHad become so common that

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