And for a flower to wither under ice andbloom at daybreak, it has to be taken. FromJapanese gardens, it has traveled backto us; now caramel leavestell White Mountain skies: “Everythingyou could want already exists,” and gifts us with a reminderof how odd it is to be anything livingat all. Original poetry and photography. Featured in…

I wonder if the same thing that tells a bird:“Go, you cannot stay”, talks to my father’s wood pile.If this is why we throw a plastic tarpover the meticulously stacked mound every fall. We trap our logs as though the wood wishes to leave.As though the wood knows what ‘wishing’ is. It’s migration season,so we’re…

It does not have to be precious;let’s create matter out of nothing. Let’s turn to this matter of nothing:the diabetic body lives off pinpricks and needles. My mother taught me how to use pins and needles;now I embroider the edges of my bruises. I have tried to put my pancreas back together with stitchesbut there…

The ghazal is a closed poetry form; here is a brief overview. The global temperature might go up a few more degrees before the end of time.I tell myself, “At least we will stop treating oil fires like dogs on leashes; they will be set free before the end of time.” I wonder how we…

Mama says,“it’s time to keep on drowning in the soul bleach; our shared memories bloodied the clockwork bends and aged us into laundromat cycles— I don’t rememberif I was dreaming when my mother and I filled the car with soap of if we are what hangs on the clothesline. But I do rememberwhen the grass…