Poetry

The waves break in happy repetition without regard for temperature or cloud cover as if they knew their journey would end here, in a sandy atonement that never seems to end. I, and

I find the trail the same as it has ever been, highbush blueberry and rock, ringed by hills, the monsters of my boyhood nights. Rediscovery is brought to grief by the absence of

There is no hallmark card for this. I watch you walk away from me, further upwind, watch you pull your father from a box, open his ziplock – watch him slip through the cracks

I took a boat through two-hundred islands going nowhere in particular. At night there was wind. I walked the empty streets–no one stopped me. Then, morning and some snow. Well, here I

We have had a difficult swim through all that: there were days when your hair was greasy, the aureole absent, but the absence revealing once presence, the summer will of God. There were