What does it mean to love? I ask the Grandmother. She says, It is taking the self out of the self and smudging the gold from the morning. // Well, here we have lilac and grey-green and red dust and rivulets. We have grey and white and black. But no gold, and no morning.
– from Hot Perpetual Half-Light Winter
forthcoming with Cordite Books
– from Hot Perpetual Half-Light Winter
forthcoming with Cordite Books