Poetry

I am headed somewhere other than our sense of things,
where I am supposed to believe in notions I do not believe—

Incise pericardium, then aorta.
Place one finger to plug the hole that you have made.
Cannulate, stop the heart.

Skiff Hill Scars across this “sharpening rock” (Nauset people honing tools and weapons) would seem a glacier’s striations, if they…