to eat but winter wind. The bloody stone by the turn
Tag Archives: winter
jogging in winter you’ll never know the name they call you
splinter
as you try to catch a glimpse of the burnt remains it crawls under your skin where the bright sky of the north holds sovereignty over the too-short winter
what the worm knows of winter suddenly awake at 3
winter rain the smoothness of a kidney bean
my neighbor’s porch light for two months deep winter
my uncle from the stars of winter
the weight of Sunday winter clothing
bright winter morning
in another room
the kettle calls
ducks
come to my empty hands
winter