https://soundcloud.app.goo.gl/fTBoVWFXKifAtxGEA

When I was about fourteen years of age, the creek that ran through the woods behind my house, along Willard Avenue and on through Green Acres, past Westbrook Elementary School, on through the woods past Western Junior High School, under Massachusetts Avenue, to the C&O Canal and into the Potomac River, a distance of about five miles, caught fire, chemical spills.

“…cultivate a taste for the insane, it’s our future, get used to it…”

How Little You Are

To the summit bald of trees,

Given to bees and Jimson Weed,

To hear the clouds say, how little you are to make matter,

To feel time,

To give what you can in return,

To leave something in place,

Leaving.

Shawnee, September 18, 2021

My interview with Alicia on the last day of my April residency.
Shawnee Boyd

Las Cosas de Mis Manos
Siempre es mi deseo que es como usted estaban caminando,
     Entre arboles y aroyos radiante del sol,
Y, !...miren alli! Debajo de una piedra saliente, a discrubir,
Una regalo de La Madre de Toda,
     Una cosa natural a delietar sus ojos.