A thousand lacewings caress the bare black skin of the river. Overhead, the last fat cruisers of spring’s rain steam across the ocean of sky toward a crash in the mountains that will exhaust them deliciously and have no name.Read more…
What are you waiting for?
Too-close buzz, steel-shod electric clippers pulling off the hair. Bumblebees in their striped jackets, cousins of hummingbirds, not gliding but fired over nectar or beauty, fierce darts of the sky, spun from sugar, like my plans, inferred from the unseenRead more…