Bird Migration

Can you hear them? Behind still-green leaves of old trees, coming on ancient v’s, over wide quiet lakes over steaming cities and licorice asphalt and the Blue Ridge like great stalagmites, from the sky. Over early frosted cotton and rotten

A Poem For My Lover on Valentine’s Day

Your Heart, Praise God I wish I could visit your heart like a museum, pry open your sternum with my hands, exposing the bumbum bumbum shining and red and pulsing with your life. I’d knock gently with a fingertip, wherein