Like Bare Elision
The windowpane answers
the question with an echo--
the rain spilling out
of the sill. One last exhale.
What was the question?
I make you the night,
dream of  the storm
that swallowed you whole
& carry a box of ashes
over the threshold.
*first published in Bear Review



girl of one

spoken word

girl of another's

word girl

of the river


Echo dwells

in a shadow

of cliffs artful in taking

the last

few words

only the last

few words as

her own echo


her mouth is yours

a cave full of

reverb claim

the final word

her own

she opens up

merely sound

opens up

her voice your

voice skips over

a veil of water

Echo returns

a song she sings

your song sings

Ghost sings the canyon

*first published in Sprung Formal XII

--Drawing No. 13, 1915

Poem made Long After the Situation


It was more about the dream

of falling.


My foot raised in the air

to step off,


the fright of the day,


standing on an edge

at Palo Duro.


With a walking stick in hand

to steady—


I spotted a long line of cows,

they looked


like widow’s

lace on the canyon trail below.

published in Lily Poetry Review Winter 2019

Far from Home


She picks a conch shell out

of the pile in the terra cotta pot.


Thousands of miles from its home

and still the shell spills sand


from its center. She wants to crawl

in, cup a beach in her hands.


Listen to the prose of the ocean—


Tell me about your emptiness.

Tell me about the moonrise.


How blue is your home.

published at

Brief Respite from the Rain


She believes she is herself, which isn’t complete madness, it’s belief…

a surface of water in an uninhabited world…

you wouldn’t think of her form by thinking about water…

                        --Mei-Mei Berssenbrugge


sidewalk puddles ponding

after the rain


the shards reflect trunk & limbs

a slight dawn of


sky peeks of pinks & blue

nimbus spring


the scent of warm wood

steeps in still air


this morning my antithesis



into the pooled mirror

a better universe


straddled between seasons

the spectre of


a looking glass I gaze in

& remember I am


water in a younger world

I could disappear in concentric ripples

published in Nature in the Now

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