Apo comes home with a new hip, a bowl made of copper that we touch through her sweater.
He was enough; enough for this life, this climate, this iceless hell. You must be big, to blubber yourself against change.
somewhere: dawn and the hum of hollowing /
seeds planted in dry weather, like a sigh /
or shout or song for when the sky /
breaks open and gives out /
something kinder than light.
Where I dream about when I dream about mountains is Utah and Georgia. You: Georgia, Iceland. We’ve both dreamed a bear ranging the forested slope out the windows above the old house’s kitchen table. But when I look at your glaciers it’s my mountains I must map back, when I pour into the crucible […]
Get Our Newsletter