The fields, if you remem­ber, smelled noth­ing like the dying foliage, after fumes from the aero­planes flooded your pos­ses­sions: the irri­ga­tion sys­tem, the house frame, prayers ris­ing like an over­ture, when braided together— They built a small fire to keep warned. Retelling the story of the rebels who’d run / against the grain—a ret­ro­grade. Retelling […]

My Euphrates Under patch­work the color of cow­ardice: our vil­lage. Fall. We are wired to lie. Detec­tors: also known as vocal cords. The minute I said it I knew it was true. I needn’t need you / to need to be with you. End­lessly roam­ing o’er the earth’s face. Thus begins our query. Would the brave youth […]