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Poems

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  • SUNDAYS | ALONE

    Mournful Sunday afternoons in winter,

  • The Fortieth Day | Pussy Riot/Want/Don’t/Want

    Now she called forth nights of a different kind of brilliance when the moon wrapped every thing with light—

  • The Names

    My student Natasha, who is Greek but is now living in Turkey,

  • Letter From The Capital

    She writes: now we have wars between historical eras. We fight in time as well as space. 1914 vs. 1939 is a devastating

  • Burning Leaves

    Leaf-fires smell like

  • Innocence

    The birds she could identify—nuthatch, oriole—

  • My Name in Sticks

    From the shallow sledding hill I gathered up

  • Urban Renewal

    Outside my window, a brutal winter burn has curled

  • Caravaggio’s Supper

    They were tired and hungry when they found themselves just outside the village now known as

  • Cora Goes Birding

    This was a bad idea.

  • Club X

    Between the gaping double-doors of Club-X and two leather thugs,

  • Dream Sender

    Tonight you’re soaring fearlessly over Prague