Each pea becomes a miniature world in a galaxy of music, worlds rolling between God’s fingers.

By eminent domain, these squatters stake their claim, keeping house, to the delight of all of us...

Come with your lemon soap and witch hazel-scented wings and cleanse us...

Streams that carry my own thoughts that flow from watershed moments, and pour down the fall line

Anticipate the music – where it will be not where it is. Half a turn, please.

In this geographical location, the old one comes face to face with metaphysical questions.

In her face, I find grief’s white- rose solitude: white as sawn wood.

I wasn't as stupid as I made out to laugh at your silly jokes. But I don't regret my stupidity.

Even as I sleep, the night owls still watch like mothers. Last night, when I curled my body into its crescent of sleep,

When the ship began rocking and rolling, I would slip away—done with strolling

Steady heat, dough rising

the fragile, edgy place we pretend to believe is constant even as the cliffs fall into the sea

But aren’t they in the moments when we call to each other as if at Julian’s veiled window never knowing the others’ true face?

No one cares that he is beautiful and delicate.

We won’t dwell on the way overnight lows and ice reliquaried spring

I could never have imagined how beautiful a barn could be

A fool’s brain fumbling for order—like the old door frames of Paris untouched by the war

The way it makes me feel when I watch her at the piano, the dimple that arrives with her smile. What will I pass on to her?

We favour things that are blue: corn flowers, corn cockle, lobelia.

“Maybe we could adopt,” he said one night they were spooning in bed, and while she didn’t respond, her body remained soft and warm, nested inside his.