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Poems

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  • Two Poems

    My brain is such a bully—wash your face, comb your hair,

  • Three Poems

    Mud to your waist. Beside you, six men probing with broken

  • MR. DARCY TALKS

    Mr. Darcy talks to the same woman

  • SUNDAYS | ALONE

    Mournful Sunday afternoons in winter,

  • “Flüchtige monde” / “fugitive moons” translated from the German by Joscha Klueppel

    mountains recall their flock of birds. the dear birds,

  • Woman, Man, Tepoztlán

    Mother, today I met a man.

  • Poems for the Absent One

    Mother death,

  • Amalgam

    Mostly, what I didn’t know didn’t hurt me

  • Notes on a 39-Year-Old Body

    Most internal organs jiggle and glow and are rosy

  • Four Square and Enthralled

    Mornings I’m grateful to my nightly self

  • Poems from My Deathbed (and Just Beyond)

    More than ever cherishing

  • Geese

    More dream now than memory, though memory is all it is: after an early dinner, I’m dropping them off at their