Poetry

The bridal white of Everest’s lonely peak has felt the weight of men’s ascending tread, and captured some, descending slow and weak, and wrapped them close in cold, forever dead. The

A bird is trapped in my house, a crow, a starling. I do not know birds. And he keeps battering himself against the windows. Then, like any bird in a poem or song,

Love came down at Christmas, Love all lovely, love divine; Love was born at Christmas, Star and angels gave the sign. Worship we the Godhead, Love incarnate, love divine; Worship we our Jesus:

The way each face is a slightly different version of the ones around it, like different coins of the same currency. Tito Luis, the nickel, with his broad nose and chiseled cheekbones. Lolo,

I am twin-horned, big-hooved and dewlapped; also thick-kneed and sway-haunched. I wander past the couch and slump as Sleep the Stunbolt Gun punches metal rod through brindled hide. Slumber the Anesthetist ensures that