Morning Liturgy

She watches the crane
lifting piles of wood,
moving them towards the other end
of the construction lot.
She likes to settle on the couch’s arm
when the sun hits midday
and the softened light warms her fur.

Read More

Sky

Now that we are sky-dwellers,
now that we (even the oaf
of a nephew of inept farmer)
are gods living in clouds,
what can I say to you?

Read More

The residue of creation

You
Are the ocean, set ablaze—
nature misunderstanding nature—
a rending of the universal soul.

Read More

My Husband is in Taurus

which looks like posing
my fiddle leaf fig in the windowsill,
asking me after its watering schedule,
as if I know anything about them
but to throw them out when they die—
 

Read More

Ditched

At sixty-one, I learned
it’s “dull as ditchwater,”
and once I pictured it,
that made sense too, but
it stole something from me:
the poetry I had made of
leftovers and loneliness,
and the yearning for a life
I still don’t know how to imagine.

Read More

TEN DAYS OF RITUALS

who often had time
              in between mantras
                          to pipe opium or chew a paan

Read More

Felina

put your
bird-soul
in my teeth.

Read More

God Moves In Neurodivergent Ways

But in the process, constantly,
Of being made in front of me.
All her half-done work, displayed
In interactive art arrays.

Read More

The Whole World is Made of Boulders

I thought I could be an action
hero when I was a kid and was certain I was born to
scale mountains and leap from place
to place like a grasshopper who hates my hands

Read More