death is a place

. From blossoms comes this brown paper bag of peaches we bought from the joy  at the bend in the road where we turned toward  signs painted ...

  .   I buried my father in the sky. Since then, the birds clean and comb him every morning and pull the blanket up to his chin every night....

  . 1. Through the night the apples outside my window one by one let go their branches and drop to the lawn. I can’t see, but hear the stem-...

    .   For me there is no materiality to apparent materiality. In our bodies, 3 billion cells a minute are dying and being reborn. So our b...

  .    Tonight my brother, in heavy boots, is walking through bare rooms over my head, opening and closing doors. What could he be looking f...

. Wait for evening. Then you’ll be alone. Wait for the playground to empty. Then call out those companions from childhoo...

  . In the steamer is the trout seasoned with slivers of ginger, two sprigs of green onion, and sesame oil. We sh...