Latest Works

Nobody batted an eye while the man with the carrion-crow mask handed the little girl flowers of violet. Not even the young farmhand, who...

Some have begun to wear parachutes when they sleep, for fear they’ll join the falling people. Others carry benzodiazepine spray to shoot...

It’s crushing but slippery, like a birth but better but worse; there are eyes on you, through  you, but you can’t summon any numbers to...

When the velvet greens are washed with rain and dirt,  And the dirt is washed with hands like the surgery of a seed— The child I once...

Dear Katz, It’s been a month and a half, and I’ve been trying to find a way to tell you how I’m feeling and what I’ve finally decided...

Lined up like make-believe guests, potted ferns Adorned the entry, their cool shadows dim Switching the parlor—life’s last living room—...

The Monitor came to me when I was 14 years old. I awoke in my bed. I couldn’t move. My eyelids felt stuck, like the barn doors after a...

I. Camellian She was made in the image of Camellia. Her lips boasted a cherry blossom, carved carmine cheeks dripped into her yellow...

the damned stands before her ʻāina ,  repressed tears embellish her limpid eyes  as she overlooks the lavender, melancholy skies, ...

Violet Plays With Raindrops, 2024 With a fingertip, I caught raindrops on the windowpane one by one, letting the coolness shock my skin...

With enough years of practice, I easily store six days  of outfits in a single backpack pocket Crumpled five dollar bills tucked in...

My Sufi guide and I are meeting on Zoom. She welcomes me with a home-run smile and a “Hi” laced with joy. “Read me one of your poems,”...

Letter from Wolfgang Jakob Welsch to his friend Julius Hofmann, 1627. Translated from the original German by Dr. Angela Windsor, 2009. My...

The breeze blew only so softly, the dandelions merely teasing their release. The entire field waved with the gentle wind. Massive stones...

My arrowroot forgives me easily For lax unintentional dry spells when Leaf blades fold in when parched, like palms upright, Tight clasped...

I sit in the middle of the wild  to watch the last of my wilderness  build a shed, take shelter,  carve a canoe from my bones. Here the...

“Tell me a bedtime story, mother,” the child says. “What kind of story?” the mother asks. “One of your scary ones. One about the...

Rising from the murky depths of an unconscious soul or a conscious id; whether Freudian, Jungian or surrealian, "nightmares" is too soft...

September rains christened the old cemetery with a bleakness that blackened the gravestones tumbled among the trees grown up in neglect....