Poetry Archives Bio
April 12, 2019
10:41 AM

To the Sisters, to the Aunts

The crow in the tree
Calls the waves to the sandline,
Splits the firmament.

When the blue divides
By blue, the shore fizzes, froths,
Shows its face to me.

All roads lead outwards;
Pause as you follow along
By the bungalows.

If it be cruelest,
This month, then what of the next?
Throw some salt, then spit.

Superstition is
Nothing to the fall of leaves.
When one snatches off,

Earth shudders to life—
The swallow will show the way
If you follow it.