(Photograph by Tom Snarsky)


Quel mystère
The history of bodies
Tapping on glass

A single bright lever
Pulled to dispense

Food & my
Cup is empty
Of any warning

Here in this many-
Chambered dark

Sixteen stars

The lake mist builds
Into a late word
Its song all stolen
From the cormorant

We both close
Our eyes during

Sex & imagine
Stripped birches

The clear
Chalice sinks
In the clear water
& disappears

It is amazing
This forgetting

The flatness
Of its desert

How it turns
So quickly into

Glinting grains

You look like
A sad house

To Eeyore

Artless &
Doing harm

Wet memory

Sixteen stars

The deer leapt

From your head
In green silence

They touched the
Deer in my head

Before breaking

Lone horse curled
Up in the snow

Sad house

Knowing helps
Us pick the
Bitterest fruit

Like building
A new
Factory on
Burnt Factory Rd

As rain levels
This holy ground

So love levels
The black space
Between stars

The light isolate


& fine

 Tom Snarsky @TomSnarsky  is getting married soon.