poet & physician
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Bennington Review
Harpur Palate
Oxford Poetry
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View the poems I'm reading today & other happenings in updates.
To diagnose sickness in absence
of silt and floods, I roast
a tortoise shell. Its cracks
compose themselves in flames.
Temujin cannot speak my native tongue.
This we share in common.
A tracery of white rivers. Ghosts
inhabit our tracks.
In the year of the horse, I carry
the shell’s small cipher to the dying.
I cannot cry. I tell them soon
we are all returning home.
from “Cosmogony”
North American Review Vol. 309, no. 3