from In this world of 12 months

Blue overwhelms and once seen transforms to still black;
and against black is blue again in light; whether
that light is ever seen depends on two-tongued breath:
whether divided speech can make light coherent
again, like it was before, like when small photon–
to guess at that speed. To describe color thought of
as nothing. To hide behind many descriptions.

-Marcella Durand


Sorry in the Woods Where

I am looking for a language

With a word that means

We must see it all

Differently: the accounting

For their symptoms

When we are calling it a day

Using the wage to mark

Our place as the place

That makes crimes

Build an own shelter

Out of arguments

Facing past

-Michelle Taransky



There’s a difference between being with someone and being alone, but I can’t tell you what it is. There are things that I do when I’m alone that I don’t do around other people. But don’t ask me what they are. For instance, I might have a bone to pick with you over something that happened long ago, but you wouldn’t know it by the things I say or do. Or the way I swivel my hips in time to the music, an old disco record hidden away in someone’s attic. It seems like a short time has passed since we woke to the sound of garbage trucks in the street, and yawned, grateful to be alive, but not really. I can fell this tree with a single blow of my ax, so stand back. Splinters of wood float down from the sky and alight on your skin. The roof my mouth is parched, but we must ration the water if we expect to get out of here in one piece. There are still some things I want to do in this life, but don’t ask me what they are. Prague, Berlin, Vilnius, Odessa—some cities I want to visit. Drive up the coast, Bolinas to Point Reyes. Walk the malacon in La Paz, one last time.

-Lewis Warsh


from tectonic

small light square down

space of a city block

snow the slow cover

in absence disappearing grass

nothing records a shift in movement

heavier still, precipitate, tumble please

shaking but an eventual change, slash

right arm through the air

neck skyward

bent limb, flood waters the pavement

-Joanna Sondheim