Ursula, shot dead, marched the ten thousandvirgins, just walked them! with the pope in towto say she could or to prove maybe thatthe purity of youth was worth the shockof Huns beheading them, each and everyone, as God’s synchronicity seems tobargain lives away in those old stories, leavin

You can’t say hand without picturing either a rightor a left. You can’t think moon withoutseeing it in one of its phases.When the arrowheads riseto the surface after the winter rainsyou can’t say again. This is a first discovery for these individual flints.The arrowheads have

Snowflakes surprise us,small and aimless as we ourselves,so light they sift upwardsin random puppetry. Yesterday we arrived in Englandon the edge of April.Workers in orange suitshad de-iced the plane in Chicago. As we’d changed planesin Dublin, yellow hoses uncoiledon juddering machi

At dawn the panther of the heavens peers over the edge of the world.She hears the stars gossip with the sun, sees the moon washing her leandarkness with water electrified by prayers. All over the world there are thosewho can’t sleep, those who never awaken. My granddaughter sleeps on the

It always seems to be night—our floatingThrough darkness, the clouds parted likeCurtains woefully. We take to twilightLike children on the road back fromSomewhere, past places that are scarcelyThere even in sheer daytime. LackingTrysts, travelers weave their own bareSteps out amongst the fores

Furred, the horizonsare both calling and escaping:there must be an edge.Near the bases on the prairiethe farms in silhouette seem homesick;one can imagine entering their kitchensand from the stubbled fieldsbirds rise up, hopeful.Someone stands at a windowlooking for a limit to visionbut the fields p