tiny poems by Grant Hackett
sweet blood drawn into dawn :: robinsong
can bumblebee pull your sun underground
if i lie silent at night
won't rain hear my heart
what is the mark of a child
in whom the sea has been crossed
upon how many crosses before your death
has the midnight sun appeared
by whom do my broken branches become a vernal cross
in the bedroom of the epidemic will my devotion to sky end without dawn
was my shadow a bird :: in the desert i could have been
is crocus the flesh where your absence nests
should promises of snow empty the world of white
whose rose is brewed in the skull of the moon
when i am wordless shall my voice :: unfold within the ears of the dead
what color of rose is waiting for my name
how did moss find its way to the roof of night
if the moon returns to life :: where shall i hide my heart