Drifts
All of this climbing just to always be on the edge
of this incomprehensible valley this
otherworld landscape of trailergreenhouses and
littletiny homes and vague walls of tires testaments
to something or other to going far enough away
to keep everything but the coyotes out this snow on
the mountains and nothing but drifts in the middle.
Pink Moon
The moon rose whole and glowing
like the light through a communication wafer,
just above Challenger,
the Sangres laid out like a jawbone,
teeth sawing at the sky,
sacrificial blood spilling the
sky screaming pink cutting through,
offering raised with both hands,
a dribble of red wine down your chin.
Writing with Lidia
The focus of the weekend workshop was exhausting metaphor. Lidia asked us what are our core metaphors, the ones that come up over and over again in our writing and conversation, what are the few lenses that we see life through? Are you always talking about digging deeper, going with the flow? Are you a politician who can’t stop declaring an intent to ram something through? ARE ALL OF YOUR POEMS ABOUT BIRDS?
