Powser Hoak had never wanted anything more than to own an underwater trampoline. In his 1970s-era Miami ranch home, he had amassed a striking collection…
Poet and Novelist
Propped upon a chaise so faint,so pale with antique grief,that even angels hesitateto touch its fragile leaf. Her lungs—two trembling reliquaries—spill hymns in crimson lace;each…
It lies across her trembling palm, a shroud in miniature— white linen steeped in whispered harm that dares not speak too pure. The lace, in looping filigree, still dreams…
She holds it like a chastened bloom pressed flat by winter’s heavy palm— a slip of lace, a breath of loom, a quiet relic asking calm. Yet through…
The room is dim, the air is thin,her breath a fleeting trace;her weary eyes half-close againagainst the lamplight’s face. Her pulse drifts faint along her…