can you recall the first poem to see you
why is a luna moth in eclipse
beyond my grasp
how did the smell of rain arrive on earth
(Issue 141, 2020)
where is the grave of the autumn
from which i never returned
how old is the light that cannot support
the weight of falling leaves
when a milkweed path passes in the dark
shall i be lifted up
(Issue 146, 2022)
by what thread will i spin when the sun unravels
will the last of my bodies fly away with the geese
knowing your purpose is the fall of rain
how gently can you live
(Issue 146, 2022)
(query i)
who has never written an
unbreakable thread—never
touched the stone inside god
who is the garden
disguised as the wind
(Issue 150, 2023)
(query ii)
whose womb is the sum of all our blood
whose dust is an iron bar
how hungry is a wound
that swallows the dark
(Issue 150, 2023)
(query iii)
when do the dead break into light
when did our poems cease writing the sea
how many abandoned awakenings
sleep inside a seed
(Issue 150, 2023)
(query iv)
who drove cemeteries of sight into my eyes
whose sleep is the house of the dead
whose cry cannot escape
the moon sewn shut with rain
(Issue 150, 2023)
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