Past Winter Solstice

Two days into shrinking
night, photos get touch
screen silently taken
in the clouds. Who visits

the creation museum? A myth
is born. A 25-year-old

portrait painting comes alive
in a child’s arms. This rip
in the canvas
is an evolution.

False Analogy

A ladder
back chair will
not push her
to hit a glass

ceiling with the tip
of her tongue. Without progressive

lenses, she can see
how life unfolds
in phases
of another

planet’s moon. Or two.
Architects toss out the best

year passes
successfully inside
a found poem.


Even getting to Q
would be more
than she imagined. More than

she could taste
when she licks
stamps for those envelopes

filled with naïve
dreams. Some evaporate
for good without a trace. Others

come true
for a while before turning
into nightmares. And some

hold other positions
in the alphabet
she can’t make out yet.