I am an old man in the west of my life. In my dream, all the birch are stripped bare, bones piled into walls — deer skulls, the ribs of men, the hollow spines of wings. I hang myself from a tree for three days to learn the songs of my mishomis and from my… [Read More]

He cut his beard with the kitchen shears — 
each strand was a day, a piece of soup stain, the carried taste of stock bones 
boiled bare in the pot. He stood shirtless by the sink 
and could not eat the plums. He left his phone on vibrate 
and when he could not sleep, he… [Read More]

— For Thao You kick your legs in sleep, and I think of rabbits. I whisper run, run, I’ll catch you, break my teeth with holding. I recite your scent: venison, woodsmoke, flour lilac, ground water, so I can follow in forests of sleep. I promise to lock my jaw and never let go. In… [Read More]