This is no small
thing: to be
the wickless
candle, borrowed
hands of the divine
to let there be. . .
poems
Jemima jawing at me in the dark,
the box of mix thumping and jumping
on the table in tune to her swiveling hips,
setting my. . .
poems
“That a really accurate calculation or estimate may not exist, that the procedure is pure guess-work, or simply traditional. . .
poems