Territory From Helan Mountains to Qin Mountains (Oh two miraculous mountains keeping out The northern gales and southern rains) From one massive
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Vallone di Sea at Gias Balma Massiet, Italy, 1500 meters By lichen-spackled stone walls Granario Fienile Hay loft above The pens Flagstone-slabbed
What do you call yourself at night when only the bats & nightshade can hear you? Girl, girl, girl, sometimes sparrow, lichen,
There’s nothing left in this frozen field. Bent cornstalks in icy mud. Nubs picked clean. All vegetable matter blanched to a ghostly
Fermento Y es verdad que ella se cansa, sus oídos padecen ese tan mío retroceder, se angustia tras percibir un tropel de
We’ve been making our way down a trail choked by vines (wild grape and greenbrier) one season’s growth threatening to close the
I Crouched among the periwinkles you evade the panting fury of the horses and the howl of dogs in the sun. You
Crows fill the bare maples, between baroque trills and iron-crust-against-plaster croaks, they dip their heads, swipe beaks, black to cold branch: What
Ever since the flood, the long Cassandra scream. Balls of water for nine months, smashing onto concrete, roofs, battering leaves, then water
Ro leaps from one rooftop to the next on the morning of the funeral. Free. The word shimmers in his mind like