Poetry — when I’m old, death be blessed, I’m laughing, laughing exponentially. I teach Love’s ancient fire to children in India, or anywhere, stories streaming freely, myself dancing from the table’s dangling spine. a woman, loving and ordinary, in stained jeans knows who I am, and I think she’s my wife, and I know like a cave…

for Chole Kearney — i remember a runny nose, texting my roommates i’d be leaving and trading them for a suitcase with wheels. i folded all my socks and felt the loneliness, the quiet, the misery of feeling i was the only one in this lone room world…