Fisherman
You tell me
about making flies
those tiny pretenders,
specific to the season
& region & species so
here might be a caddis…
Small Love Song
In the bird-machine morning
where I found myself beside you,
most fears fallen still and the soft
sleep of your skin beneath my hands…
The Ineffability of Metaphor
Even in memory it clicks like a key in me,
a tulip opening a river.
I am tired of my body being romanced in Donne.
But yours, how rare for it to be beautiful.…