Uneven Architecture

birds creak on hills
hedging me & sewage is
dumped into the Ohio
the Allegheny &
Monongahela
nine billion gallons
a year yet there are
sunsets that burn into
me like vehicular
radiation this exhaust
I know from work
is from wanting is
from being diffident
in the greed I cannot
parse between heart &
blood that triangulates
itself around this city
all this virulent discharge
I claim enclosed is home

(originally published in Sybil Journal, Summer 2020)

On Earth, We Travel a Thousand Miles Every Hour

                          For David and Anna

Rain is never insurmountable,
and the sun never gets old,

though we plan to, together,
to grow with green things

sprouting at our feet. We
watch new trees become

wise while the landscape
shifts, as it must, and though

Earth spins briskly– almost
beyond what we can fathom–

it has order, being as small
and in love as we are.

We stand on our plot
of land, firm though

flung through time and
space, the universe we

made forever expanding.

(originally published in The Vineyard, Winter 2023)