In Sickness and In Health

I demand a day without so much fucking sky. Or, so much brown earth, flattened as though rolled and pinned by the muted white firmament. I loved it...

Inside the house no snow No wood of footbridges dark with a staying wet in a forest black with green and lore with white But burning hands under...

I return to something like consciousness lying outside the gate in the driveway, partly in the county road. Our big akitas whine and leap...

“Tag, you’re it,” cancer says and you fall down the hole, you or someone you love. Your father, a friend from work, the wife of the youth...