The Bittern at Abbott’s Lagoon
the walk to the sea belongs to the sea
we are drawn on as waves are
the late light is sidelong
a glance at a party
passed from one guest to the next
In My Heart
Here’s the secret: nobody knows
what the moon is made of. Nobody
understands our bodies’ common cheese …
The Bush
The extraordinary arms of the bush.
Trap music still echoing: the singing
birds another cover. The conscious hush.
The Bellbird
The full moon, glowing at dusk,
and the audacious bellbird is calling out from his tree,
so small yet so loud.
At the Love Feast
Father’s special homily gave Mother
and the choir some rest. I leaned
across Delphina’s lap beneath her arm.
Audio, Awards, Chapbook Prize, Chapbooks, Poems
In America
“Why don’t you go to Japan and ask the cats?” I said to the TSA agent when she asked if