winter 1

The winter he was nine, my brother

dug a cave in his room

and disappeared.

We left food: bright apples,

smooth skinned as the moon,

whispering of trees and

wind through branches, silk sac clouds

scattered rain and seeds, green notes

for a boy vanishing,

erasing into dark.

He left clues: schemes of war,

intricate portraits , dark with bombs

tracer bullets stitching the sky.

leaves flew into the cave, making dry

sere sounds, as if bones

knocked, bone on bone,

a scuffling slouching sound as if

a boy turned bear, a boy turned

fur and claw, ear and eye disposed

to winter hibernation, broken innocence


Eurydice Speaks

the sting of the serpent was soft
and lingering as a kiss,
I thought the god had bruised my heel
with his shining mouth.

the dark, sudden,
a hurried descent
into the tangled roots of night.

I am a voice without speech,
struggling to rise through a white sea
that clings tight as grave cloths
around my bones.

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