Poetry

It is snowing
fiddle notes

To warm ourselves before a stove
in a foreign province,

good shoppers trampled a man
to death does laziness save lives?

Just as the souls
departed my body

When I grow up I want to be born, how fabulous would that be —\nto emerge from the ocean ready to start breathing?

It begins, you imagine,\nas something captured —

On holiest day dismal I digest myself, composed.\nThere will be one of these each year, specific apology,

They have been at it long enough\nto be spaced out all around a city block,