On my walk to town, I came across the body of an animal mangled so badly I couldn’t tell what it was…

No dripping rain tickles trails inside the arms of our Gore-tex jackets, knuckles growing frosted as rounded stones, clutching burlap bags…

I changed my clothes behind a rock. We’re not looking at you someone said.

Between the apple picker’s cabin and the house a rabbit the size of a teacup trembles.

It’s difficult for snow to be beautiful in March.

Her mask was made of bees and belled with song, honeyed all the heavy noons.

The darkness came down hard that November, and when I took the coat out of the closet…

When the drizzle finally thins out, when the wind dies down and the channel smooths, when reflections of the orange-roofed boathouse and bare trees at the edge of the island…

On our street, an elderly couple walks together each evening and it is easy to see how they cling to one another so tightly…

Cooper’s Hawk stands in the sun on a stout branch in the pine grove and barks ‍ ‍ cak-cak-cak

I am about to climb into the bed in this borrowed cabin, to burrow under the quilt

My father wanted to cut the overgrown all wild. I begged...

We’re not very good at holding the truth of our fragility. Even when our bones are strong, our muscles thick with power, and our minds resolute with purpose, still, we are naked before the world’s bat...

When the potato turns green it’s poison       Behold my glossy peppers

I water it the way I once spoke to you – too little, then too much.

if we are light then we must travel by way of the line…

I saw the storm come on. I held each window’s shiny eye in place. I rattled.

April, if I could flee, I would. I would unbutton this body, peel it like the soft rind of an udara fruit

Define the sublime? In the books we’re told to read here, poets say: guava skies, mountains of paradox

You should have been sipping nectar all winter in some green, voluptuous place far south of here. But October turned to November turned to December

Follow the river and you will get to the sea says the proverb but today is not flowing any which way  and if you've traveled the Mississippi you'd know there are tree stumps logs hazardous debris…

The table is full of fretted talk of instability and what we move toward, photos of a fire-torn neighborhood…

pried open, shucked bivalves cracked         at the spine

Something in you breaks, then it breaks down. Night someplace —you comb the engine of stars, aching

that laces my weeping fig                 the base- board’s jut

Last week I saw a doe standing still and staring at me in the middle of the road…

It’s the red and black checked wool in the Penney’s catalog that has me seeing the men  in my life…

Angry and hard the heat that day when I drove the empty road past wild blueberry fields lined with goldenrod.

I found you here, Father, a decade after you died. Your tombstone is identical to hundreds growing like bleached teeth from the buzz-cut grass…

It cleared the boxwood hedge and landed feet from my hound dog frozen at the sight of the rut-crazed buck—