Boreas I: Compliance

I breathe through my nose
because my throat is
sore with mystery,
phrases lost between
hot water and the
morning commute.
And it is sour:
winter wool rises
in the damp and the cold,
and each luxury
is a stake
beaten into frozen ground.

Sleepiness digs me deeper
and deeper,
all the hidden sheets
rubbing my body to
quick to anger and
to possession, stripped bark
like a missing photograph,
lost wasp from
honeyless hive.

How sick we get
in the quiet season,
death muting even the footsteps
muffled in the dark.
So the dust sticks
to the radiator
so the walls turn,
and so I leave the sun like
an embittered lover
every night,
waiting for her at
the threshold in the morning.


When Loving Death / When Loving Life

we hold onto
our new loves
while the trees give their breath
to the wind.
while the world around us sighs,
lets go of life,
we hold on,
we cling,
feel the pain of ending
blooming in our growing love.
we mourn the green,
anoint ourselves in amber sap
kindling our lonely fire,
in the heat.

but in the spring,
the world around us wakes
and the air traps
the growing freshness
and the new buds,
bumping against each other
as butterflies,
as the flowers in the rain.
love is boundless
when the world is young,
and yet
the promise of winter
finds the bed
when the hearth is cold.


Almonds and Apricots

There is a quiet, dusty city that lies
trapped between landscapes,
where the corners are littered with almonds
and apricot seeds.
fury that fills clay jars is kept tucked away and hidden

the towns run like the neglected project of a clockmaker.
there are women who predict storms
out of blue skies and lazy breezes;
they hold the romance of fertility
deep beneath the rock.

it is only among the edges of winter
where my city conforms
into a wonderland of pitfalls and ice,
and the past barely holds the covered secret
of the scenery:
Semiramis was cold and indifferent to her lovers
who became mountains
(cold and indifferent mountains)
and trapped a city
in perpetual mourning