Poetry

At the park a birthday picnic glitters safe as a

In Fairmount Park the Canada geese migrate from the west

The late summer brings forth baseball, roses, and wreckage. A

Becoming intimate with spirits, I put my ear to the

The basement furnace died at 3AM. The chilly weather of

Man is the only creature that is not always killed

San Girolamo, Caravaggio, 1605 In a dark room, San Girolamo

Even now, is it possible to consider the self-original: the

She bent slowly, grabbin the damp bedsheet from the laundry

(Demeter) Wake crocuses—push through crumbling asphalt; purr and croon, slumbering

George Segal, 1975, 2020. Plaster, wood, plastic, metal and electric

We wore slap bracelets and pants that swished. Housed somewhere