Poems

From ‘on a species of bird that doesn’t fly away’

how can we prepare to set off, or can we rely on the routes already written, the maps already drawn, endlessly picturing the road ahead. last night, we walked into suspended moments, when a lost bird drifted around the house, we listened to the breath of the outside sigh in time to the hammock sway, a few moments of silence gathered in the chest, and I couldn’t breathe, the tangled images, my fingers in your hair, […]