the songbook is full
of songs left to sing
we didn’t wait long to end
the song present in the now
unwrapped from the box
where we sang tenuous tones
(originally published in The Piedmont Journal of Poetry and Fiction, Winter 2017)
the songbook is full
of songs left to sing
we didn’t wait long to end
the song present in the now
unwrapped from the box
where we sang tenuous tones
(originally published in The Piedmont Journal of Poetry and Fiction, Winter 2017)
When in view I know I launch like a rocket toward you
but you are my favorite scent in the universe
I watch stars when sprinting through open fields
my neck beaming orange from my electric collar
you have given me many such gifts
but nothing can replicate your hand on my fur
you know I don’t need to shake my butt when I walk
I’m only playing but it is funny when you mimic my moves
& we have so many years & so few
and every day is so new I can’t bear to learn
the name of another dog or tree because everything is beautiful
& holy & profound in the way you let me roam free the times
I only need to go outside to pee & look, everything’s so gorgeous
I can’t bear to sit still & yet will return to you when you call my name
(originally published in Perspectives Magazine, Spring 2017)
the living room drones and mumbles.
the bone dove sings a petrified song
above the tree, nearly silent enough
to believe a resurrection could occur
in the coming days. pass the stocking
with the kidney stone. bring
the anesthetic. we will drink–
this is the blood bond, the calm,
the thin slicing of ham: bloodless
& calm, torn red wrapping paper
strewn about the room
(originally published in Whale Road Review, December 2015)