Poems: Messages in bottles
Elevens: Forgotten things recollected in elevens—11, 22, 33...
Sacred Trespasses: Contributions to the literary pages at Sacred Trespasses


Each eye keeps its own time
It’ll never happen but we’ll see it

Old man, small dog
reliable railway foliage
brambled down to the track

A crossing bell, February
Snow piled round the stepstones

Sometimes it feels like Chekhov-brand wallpaper
Sometimes the true, unchanging line

you’ve seen slide by
through a curved window
fogged with crystals

cryptic and disappearing


Anatomy of a Sentence: Antoine de Saint-Exupéry