Long, wide pass of the blades, across glass and built-up snow-gut.

What does it mean to be alive?

I draw in / close enough to hear the crackle / of snowmelt. Ice unclenches its fist.

The car seemed cool until / You didn’t want to be seen in it

I understand this, how all artists / are essentially magpies at heart, / gathering shiny things and squirreling them away

Here at night / I sleep with you / inside ice houses

From deep down to high up go inward / for light. Keep drowning keep / growing keep listening

She could not have known that soon after / their baby was born, her husband would die

Whose time in the tangle is so smooth / it feels like swimming, parting the lush green stroke / by stroke?

I learned your language to unbury you ...

Is every bird a kiss incarnate? Its color and character contained?

In my phone in my food in my milk / container, in my thoughts, the mouse, the transparent / window

In these incantatory movements, / everything is on the verge of kindling

How is it that spring comes / early to January, green film / feathering the still-wet rocks