Published in Bones 14

    her myrrh
    embalms for now
    the murmur
    in healthy balance
    hear the word
    her need
    (indeed only one)
    she pours over 
    the word
    one death ends
    with a word 
    for its tomb
    the word 'poor' always
    and the word to be 
    no more
    among us
    a word dies 
    because it does not die
    on her lips
    of itself
    the skin of words
    sleep in-turning death's portal
  • burning bridges 
    with a flare of words
    in fits of ineffability
  • spring forecast
    i reverse engineer
    my ancestry

  • spring return
    i try to live up to
    my obituary