The Brooklyn Rail

BLUE THREADS

The wires in the water have opened a window. Oh, we are the same
snow. They say, sense of space sense of space. And I watch the
miasma I was disappear.

WILD WINDOW

A dead wolf watched droplets of its deleted atoms retune. The little
auroras were dressed in tendrils, announcing a rare abyss.

MEMBRANE GARDEN

In the season of small tufts, wearing a blazing brain. In the audience
of the indivisible. A new species of saliva in the staggering waves. No
dirt. No other words.

THE HISTORY OF A STEM IS ANOTHER STEM

The groan in a piece of paper. The brain in a stone.

ORGANS OF THE CORMORANT

The eyes in a fawn. The fawns in a wolf. The paws in an acre of alfalfa.
The fear in a corn field. The absence in a goose. The loom in a worm.

CARRION DIARY

The snow embalmed a dismembering owl.

WILD WINDOW 2

I have always been a cowslip facing away.

THE LAKE IN A FROG

I can still see the lake in a frog. I can still see the lake in a frog.
I can still see the lake in a frog. I can still see the lake in a frog.
I can still see the lake in a frog. I can still see the lake in a frog.
I can still see the lake in a frog. I can still see the lake in a frog.
I can still see the lake in a frog. I can still see the lake in a frog.
I can still see the lake in a frog. I can still see the lake in a frog.
I can still see the lake in a frog. I can still see the lake in a frog.