I brush away snow to watch the pulse of water
beneath ice. We’re allowed to name the stars
more than once. Look at the naked sky in January.
The light we’re blind to at midday travels toward us,
broken by a cone on an alder branch, only to become
shadow. My heart sits impatiently in the basket
of my ribs, reminding me that not long ago
the pierced dark showed ships at sea
a way home.
Two nights after he died, all night I heard the same one-line story on repeat:…
For times of grief and sorrow, we offer this curated collection of poems as a…
Somewhere someone needs help. Send love. It matters. If you can’t get there yourself, then…
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