de-rendering

home

  • poospatuck, my love

    This is how I can reach you: your touch, your voice. Your mood is protean. I try to mold it. I take comfort that I have discovered these things. An illusion.

  • bog/hello/amagansett

    how are you? lost

  • jane/the mist

    jane poor, obscure, plain you called me sidhe

  • substance/chesbro reservoir

    time allowed itself such substance on highway 101

  • vigil

    an odor begs for touch the way a seed cannot

  • babel

    it was the dog that watched her fall