September 2023

Under which she pruned
the peach trees and a tiny gateway
opened in her spine. That pain
distilled there like a drop
of molten glass. And was the first of many
chambers to form.

There was her bedroom,
where she bloomed
in the white fog of sleep
and so...

     mak is the touch
of the potter, the thumbprint
on clay
the unfinished warp of wood
and braille
of grain

and knob
of rope that hangs
the squid that is dried
     for days
then eaten

with wine
fermented from
     dredges
of rice—

the Joseon potter
adjoins two hemispheres to make
a white
lopsided moon

exalt in these
imperfections

                 the act
of creation...

a man I’ve never met tells me to open
like a flower      but a flower cut

too soon won’t soften
into bloom       it stays

like a fist     so like a fist
I leave a mark

and all the heart I have
inside this tidy vessel    I’m disruption

the...