A Shrine We Built for All the Things We Couldn’t Hold
What can we dig out of this collapsed house?
Gorl and Her Home
In the golden lava Gorl remembers the stories of Home.
Barrani
Kif rani ried jaf ismi.
(When he saw me he asked me my name.)
Queen’s Street, Toronto
Minn tarf sa tarf tat-triq timxi l-istorja,
(History walks from one end to the other of the street—)
Ramalla
Rajt xemx żagħżugħa tixgħel il-belt kollha.
(I saw a young sun setting the city alight.)
thesis: here gender is elusive, if not slippery as silt
the fact that it could be anyone / proves that it could be anyone
Elegy with thank-offering
like a basin of holy water used to perfume the skin / or Trinity about an hour before sunrise—the reaper’s / reaper. . .
Headless
Boy borderless | mind oil-slick rainbow
Sunday Before Last
How will I someday guide their arks to bank?
Jacob’s Eyes
I used to love this job, love the escapism of the mountain. Now, I had Jacob.
The Hidebehind
At the Hidebehind’s house, it is always autumn.
My Father Tells Me About Trees
It’s a ficus, I tell him like I told him last week and last month.
The Ice Holds Wicked Ghosts Tightest
Waverley’s ghost is not wicked.
Łódź: Spring 2019, Observations
Opening quotation marks, for example, fall below the line of text.
Alien People
The city changes you, and years of life accumulate, but some things you don’t forget.