December 2005

I have watched you crank that sun up
in the morning, then drop it like the sand bag
that raises the curtain as the house lights fade;
I have seen you churn those waters up, then suck
them back, or stop them with a...

My little lack-of-light, my swaddled soul,   
December baby. Hush, for it is dark,   
and will grow darker still. We must embark   
directly. Bring an orange as the toll   
for Charon: he will be our gondolier.   
Upon the shore, the season pans for light,   
and solstice fish,...

They are not angels

though they have the hollow look

         of beings bred on ether. There’s an air

of cool removal from your life, the hawk’s

         indifference to the hare’s terror.

You see it in...