I know it’s the brain, not you, / that loves, or fails to love.
Days and days repeat in superfluous / museums of routine.
your new goal is to learn to breathe / through bones
contact / with the actual
If God fists the bolt, does it matter / if I reach the farmhouse?
please god not another poem about windows
Seeing too much is seeing too little
a want / to be hammer and fire
a distance / we call octave
All things shrink into mirrors