published in the poetry society of america chapbook fellowship series.
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INVOCATION In the middle of a tiny spot and nearly bare there is the color of the gas flame turned as low as possible, straight into It was what he imagined and nothing beyond. He had further to go, though; soon, the spot flew vivid from his throat over dark bed posts, from which we derive and wherein lies our fate: The words are somewhere. The words belong here. Earth was given to me in a dream, in a dream I possessed it as something seamed and deep into which one plunged, going dark. And now his wide hands squeeze together the wide low-hanging clouds with soft spots as on babies' skulls.
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