Your Voice Becomes My Home I feel as if we have known each other for years, yet it […]
A fallen tree became our table,
and setting water bottles down,
like building houses out of cards,
we breathed in the quiet air around us,
listening for the sound.
I am at the fringe of a dream.
“The rot of the Mesozoic
keeps our lights alive”
On stolen soil,
There is nothing
I capsize every night, anchorless and gasping . . .
Why must I
for forbidden fruit?
The store is closed when I
from the window
I imagine better homes.