Numbers have captured me countless times: following their rhythm synchronizes the space between breaths; unfolding their patterns provides proof of nature's spiraling grace; even counting, simplest of all, lets children collect handfuls of vanishing stars in the endless night sky, placing each one in an inventory along with a few

When the iron angel visits, cloaking you in her thick presence, do not tremble and do not forget that there are deeper realms where she cannot go: through the cavern beneath the base of the rib cage, where the darkness is more ancient than the starry midnights of younger, more

Westbound and head first into the unrelenting swell—a thunderclap crescendo refusing to release crashes over the plains, electrifying the frenetic dancing limbs of the cottonwoods, kicking up their fallen leaves for one final waltz, leaving no space for imagination—an invisible stampede flushing the cavernous west with bone dry

My eyes opened on an Autumn morning, drawn to a deep loss: the fading impression left by a familiar figure slipping out of reach. He drifted down the hallway of the house, which was no longer mine, always facing away, disappearing before I could ask why he was leaving, where