At dusk, the snow is determined as ever.
I quiver among the weeds.
when it pierces my skin
I tremble without panic
If God blessed vegetation, fish, birds and beasts, /
then humans, did s/he get around to the rocks?
Ka Fidel’s kids ask for his ashes to be sent to the Philippines
It had run on, the river and the horse in it.
that’s the kind of angel I’d be
a ballplayer, like everyone else in heaven
the meadow submits
to cold hands
This is not the realm of will or desire.
so many ways of talking about the body’s grace