

Late-Winter TreesLate-Winter TreesLate-Winter Trees
for Grace and Andy
The late-winter trees are cold. They are cold
and old,
and late,
and dying
rubbed
into the night sky all black paint and
greasy shadows. Their branches like the finger bones of an
old man with hands so big
he can cover the stars distant bleary eyes that
look, and see, and record
us.
The closest one: Four-something light years away. Four-something and forever years ago
you were alive,
but three ye
Me

Chicago SecretsChicago SecretsChicago Secrets
Wander lust
fueled me up the Red Line. My path traced and trailed
your spine along goose bumps, tracks. North to the nape of your neck. South to the small of your back.
Show me inside. The lights are not too bright tonight for secrets to be shared and kept.
Fragmented shards of you glinted from the shadows, flashes of white, glimpses of God I moved rhythmic
in foreign streets, in stranger sheets.
The c


MarginaliaMarginaliaMarginalia
I.
Ive set my pen down
in the periphery of poems, the margins of memoirs, the nooks of novels. Ive permeated
those pale pages with words like glaze
to gum my permanence in place. I do this so that descendants, family, future readers,
and strangers will see,
see that passage in Dickens where I marked it: ha! and they will know it is where I laughed.
II.
Thats good, says mom when I parley
my latest poem. Really good. Good job. &
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