Night View, Base Camp, East of Kyiv
There aren’t as many stars tonight
As once there were before
Poets Respond
Exile is No Country
The trees burned first, ablaze in the inferno of exile.
The tsunami of death drowned the ones washed up by exile.
Convict Game
It’s not a lion,
The sun over the Serengeti,
And the rifle has not saved the free world.
Supermoon
It doesn’t arrive so much as continue
to exist, this blue supermoon
exactly who she was just days before.
Little Bird
The hottest month of the hottest year
on record. August in Texas. Unrelenting.
Mother had died just the month before.
My mother. The world kept burning.