Poetry

To M. W. Nighthawks, nighttime, look at them strolling along, Trying to drag off a…

My body ached for it, Curling towards anything that radiated warmth, And there was an…

What offerings can we make for the dead at our table of bounty and empty…

We’re moving to higher ground, they say, As our island sinks slowly into the sea,…

The cold sun rises on the empty square; No occupants now where the ground is…

Union Square 14 Street, the man plays in a subway, he plays well and looks…

On New Year’s morning, my first extended stay with my daughter since she moved to…

The air no longer warm and icky, The turn to autumn comes to pass. The…

No sooner than 24 hours after Hurricane Ian rumbled through the I-4 corridor where Orlandoans,…

The luminous call for the birdsong bells A dream dies every few seconds in this…

She thought her large hands and feet were due to her hard labour one summer…

…I just go where I’m told and do what I was made to do. from…