Two Poems: ‘DRØNE’ & ‘GLITCH’

“DRØNE”, after Middens

each of these lives
some baroque station
of the cross, a slow
          unenviable grip
on water’s edge, a turned spar
against groined blooms
of bone. What you remember
of life, how you got here,
what you received
and did not receive.
          Between the spoiler
and an ecosystem so gently,
strangely beautiful that to see it
is to end it—an irrevocable
drawing down
of lights, a slicing
of the palm.



a trip of glass
and how hands pass
between worlds. Boundaries
have always been life’s surest gloss. A stretched neck
of cloud
and water’s way of giving impossible
edges to its list of wire hanging
lines. The ghosts of ornament, slit
in two uneven halves, the way the trees
unhook themselves and,
for the first time,
you notice they have no roots.