Tag Archives: Memory

When moved.

When moved.



a storm travels

toward, and through.


Bright spring green

travels inward.



ritual persistence.


Children’s socks

clipped to the line

through a third




What’s the matter?



Big, round drops

to walk between.

To find a figure

just out of reach.







to carry memory

outside the body.





Much like this poem

Much like this poem


a child speaks in projective whisper

learned lessons from the clouds—


whereas, in high desert, projection laws

do not apply


blades of grass imply distinct edges;

to sever an edge is true

when held in memory


childhoods rove in waves—broken

toys and plastic chairs surface in the sand;

storybook territories continue to expand



unfinished lines hang there, threads

a line of thought paper thin, as a vacant

lot of known flowers in context

of what we don’t know


some lines calcify, locked in strata

where we put them and fill in sand

and sleep


when they find us

here, they’ll replace themselves

into the hollows left by these bones