Azila

i've often lately wondered why i foster wings that cannot fly, like eyes that tear but never cry or springtime buds that bloom to die.

i met a man whose soul had left him what he was just a boy, leaving the kind of hole that makes you cover your children's eyes because you don't ...

there are letters chained to the sun, but let me tell you, dear, they don't say anything special. I can hear them sometimes when I'm looking for quiet, and I ...

there will come a time when you won't pour rain on cobbled streets and watch in gutters for flower petals; a time when foghaloed streetlights bless your wine and your ...

you said to hear what I like for now (because someday the sounds might have to start over) and your heart felt wounded and quivering like a cello.

unreal is sometimes his, in temperous veins and fingers that comb the sea. often mine, in (or not, you know) the jar without a lid. always yours, in the house ...

everyday he in the way he knows he grows or somesuch. and everynight she stands up bright and snows a hundred thousand shades of abstract.

sleep tight, birds in flight leave me when I wake, or maybe then find me when (we're here in silver) it's all the same. we're here and clear ly you ...

stealing through the heavy doors (there there, so they don't bark) hoping nobody hears the dust that reaches up to lick your feet. hush the quiet until it sleeps and ...

"tremble-fingered and red-eyed and sleeping with fingers between holy pages" Good god, this is one of the most powerful and haunting poems I have read.

there once was a boat that drifted afloat down the riverway. the reeds bent back, littlewhite, littleblack when the boat floated their way. we used to think it never would ...

in the darkness of the train station, we moth around the lights and tell our children that the eyes of the train are brightest when they are looking at you. ...

green cloak on gray shoulders, gray smoke and gray boulders. dripping wax acts like her fingers, clasping closed the curtaintops or opening cans of calico shadow and tracing faces in ...

spread across tundra like a drop of paint and too much water smeared across paper with my thumb, like mosquitoes or electrons clouding, (swarming, biting, exciting the dark) they are ...