Creature, Now release my view from your eyes Take the unformed form of being In another Flee my mind and take this curled, cold anguish Seed another...
Oh Madeleine Our Son's not coming home. Blow out all light, in night That seems so long. Encased in oak, entwined with scents Of foreign Lands, Bear...
Is there a baby lost at sea, Cradled in the windlashed foam? Destitute cries of gulls Form lullabies Swelling and fading Then scattering over the sky...