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Poems

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  • Earthquake

    The voices of self are ended. A sepia

  • A Prayer

    Praise the scent of wood

  • Sources And Outcomes & Through The Hospital Corridor

    Too many moons crossing in solitude

  • RODIN, “Hand with Small Torso, Bronze” | Rodin’s “The Cathedral”

    In Paris you can see his drawer of hands.

  • Antonio Gamoneda, from Book of the Cold (World Poetry Books, May 2022) translated from Spanish by Katherine M. Hedeen and Víctor Rodríguez Núñez

    You smell the wet linens, your acids.

  • A Brief Portfolio: Five Poems

    I found this suitcase slumped in a dark attic corner

  • What If a House Could Draw its Own Blueprints? and The Decision

    The house grows wild, floats

  • REVENANT

    Salt and sour bait

  • mother of stains

    a mother made of three buttons from three different sweaters

  • En Route

    All over wherever we are the waves are making

  • AFTER THUNDERSTORMS IN OKLAHOMA

    The sky becomes sickly,

  • Two Exhausted Bodies

    My insides are a flooded field. Though the field outside is larger and I have played there, laid