I don’t think in 20 years
anyone will be there. the land
gone to industry—real
estate or some other thing.
my mother’s mother’s house.
my uncle’s house.
but his kids are in finance
and none of them farm.
it’s a dairy farm, anyway—
who drinks cow milk?
I remember going down there
as a kid for the holidays.
remember the potholes
on the lane from the road.
remember the way
the house shone like a fish
flashing its fins in a river
at night as a star among
darkness, while above
all the rest of them
made the wild distinct pattern
of steel through the scratch
of scrapped frying pans.
has been described by one editor as “a cosmopolitan poet” and another as “prolific, bordering on incontinent.” His work has nominated twelve times for Best of the Net, eight for the Pushcart Prize, and once for the Forward Prize, and has been released in three collections: Love is Breaking Plates in the Garden (Encircle Press, 2016), Sad Havoc Among the Birds (Turas Press, 2019), and Noble Rot (Turas Press, 2022).
