I Kept Buying Bottles of Honey
as if the amber-hued stuff could actually deliver
the promises of health and wholeness I read
on each label
Smoke Gets in My Eyes
I got a call this morning from my father
who said the smoke was so thick over home
that it had come in the form of a brown fog
to make your throat burn or what my sister said
smelled like the apocalypse.
Whale Bone
In this field of fireweed and wild oat
that leans for ten thousand mornings to the east,
I see the wind coming
from miles and miles away
like wakes at the back of an unseen boat.
Your Lie in April
The title of this poem comes from a Japanese story retold in various formats, and when I wrote the poem, this was the only title it could have.
