Ars Poetica, age 4 four-year-old hand caressed that plastic world & beheld its cerulean tilt & spin



Mommy, I just think there’s a baby in your belly. 

One Sparrow

                    circles the bridge, as if to signify a need, its arcs nearly complete, dismantled figure 8’s.                     The river wrinkles its reflection: like a shooting black star aimed for its place in an unfinished constellation. Where […]

Green Beans and Mashed Potatoes

If notions of love                are shaped by how our parents                loved, or tried, will I be blessed?    Or doomed? Never expecting                a penthouse at the epicenter               […]


One day I woke up & my grandmother was in the kitchen frying the cricket in a peppered pan & I thought it was better that way, for the cricket to be swallowed & carried inside a body so that it would never know lonely.

Half Moon Bay

He said once: the moon is a man who will marry you someday. At the bay, my wife calls to me in a language he never knew. Her mouth around my name: the moon.