Poetry
Coyotes
A poor chorus has gathered behind the hill.Too close, scathing,The shrieks and criesScratch the clouds from the stars—Rain-softened scabs.The moon bleeds and seepsInto parched grass.
Higher Education
A Miracle
Wiping the Tears
A Poetry Reading in Connecticut
Confessions of a Former Scarecrow
On a Lovefeast of Yesterdays
Capturing the Scent of Rain
