Poem – Buenos Aires

Winter had already come. I was reading Robert Lowell, whose ill-spirit sobbed in each blood cell. Nothing so fiercely felt, on my part. Each morning […]

Poem – Cursory

The crease below the palm is red from your wax sheet: the shape of a dragon, turned down to me— you press the picture to […]

Poem – Building a Monument

What he heard in the old age What he said to the long flat stones What he heard in the old age Reemerged, throwing coins […]