Category: Poetry

a brain shivers left air drying on the floor Read More …

I’m suffering from what I thought we could make, from an art ache. Read More …

Thawed soil’s gravy drips up into and kneads my careless back. Read More …

Yesterday a farmer left the earth. Tomorrow to it he will return. Read More …

The air is stressed. Rain plucks against the tension discordantly. Read More …

“In the morning sow your seed, and at evening withhold not your hand, for you do not know which will prosper, this or that, or whether both alike will be good.” – Ecclesiastes 11:6 To Wendell Berry Mr. Berry, sir, you have garnered, gardened, my respect. Though not all aged men be wise, you affirm Read More …

I’ve heard that love is a verb.
And so it is. Read More …