Potential Titles: Chris Dombrowski
Apr. 1st, 2010 06:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
somethingdarkerWhorled thumbprint of a god - Chris Dombrowski "Another rapture rescheduled,"
The company of an invisible warbler - Chris Dombrowski "Bird in My Boot"
Refugee of the seraphim - Chris Dombrowski "Bird in My Boot"
Upon whose constant intercession I depend - Chris Dombrowski "Bird in My Boot"
To witness the ten thousand worlds - Chris Dombrowski "Blown Snow"
Between the planets' pewter light - Chris Dombrowski "Boreal"
A threadbare sail nightwinds needle through - Chris Dombrowski "Boreal"
Each onlooker's single deepest sorrow unremarked - Chris Dombrowski "Brook Trout"
Reflections of honeysuckle gone to seed - Chris Dombrowski "Bull Elk in October River"
A winter's worth of melting snow - Chris Dombrowski "Coda"
Prayed twice daily to Saint Anne - Chris Dombrowski "Comes to Worse"
The wavering flame of my heartbeat - Chris Dombrowski "Comes to Worse"
Must again retrieve from nothingness - Chris Dombrowski "Comes to Worse"
Whose needles numbered our myriad notions - Chris Dombrowski "Comes to Worse"
The tatters of a dream-scarf that unraveled - Chris Dombrowski "Comes to Worse"
Peppered with a million spent moths - Chris Dombrowski "Comes to Worse"
A riverbank cut deep enough to bury us - Chris Dombrowski "Comes to Worse"
An impact with enough dominion to annihilate - Chris Dombrowski "Comes to Worse"
Another stolen swig of whiskey - Chris Dombrowski "Comes to Worse"
Brief as a July snow - Chris Dombrowski "Comes to Worse"
In the warrens of grief - Chris Dombrowski "Comes to Worse"
The ash's berry clusters not quite blushing - Chris Dombrowski "Comes to Worse"
Dupes an attacking rhino - Chris Dombrowski "Comes to Worse"
Casting her vote for desire - Chris Dombrowski "The Congressman's Daughter"
Far beyond the limits of pursuit - Chris Dombrowski "Cooking Christmas Dinner with My Son, the Runner"
Early in the noon-stabbed dusk - Chris Dombrowski "Direction"
Ink of our excuses - Chris Dombrowski "Direction"
Heeding each momentary beacon - Chris Dombrowski "Direction"
The bottle in which you hold our tears - Chris Dombrowski "Early June, Missoula, Year of the Sheep"
Before sweeping the shards skyward - Chris Dombrowski "Early June, Missoula, Year of the Sheep"
Stir a little sawdust - Chris Dombrowski "Elegy with Fall's Last Filaments"
Strung with quicksilver sunlight - Chris Dombrowski "Elegy with Fall's Last Filaments"
Bound for webs orbiting each other - Chris Dombrowski "Elegy with Fall's Last Filaments"
Pressed sage into a bed - Chris Dombrowski "Epithalamium"
A fractured school of minnows - Chris Dombrowski "Epithalamium"
A plank one might walk to horizon's edge - Chris Dombrowski "Epithalamium"
Sunday afternoon starlight - Chris Dombrowski "February Sidereal with Backyard Doe"
Its billion-mile-long pocket comb - Chris Dombrowski "February Sidereal with Backyard Doe"
Nothing but the distance between the hunter and the hunted - Chris Dombrowski "February Sidereal with Backyard Doe"
February having seeped into bloodstreams - Chris Dombrowski "Fig"
Open the door holding back dawn - Chris Dombrowski "First Hour"
Splinter of dawn through the glass - Chris Dombrowski "First Hour"
The gears of the universe turning - Chris Dombrowski "First Hour"
A sugary alarm clock in the veins - Chris Dombrowski "First Hour"
Watched a doe chewing sage - Chris Dombrowski "First Hour"
Opening the view to thousands of landing geese - Chris Dombrowski "First Hour"
Ridgeline ponderosas wind-pardoned - Chris Dombrowski "Fluvial"
Surviving worshippers of the sky - Chris Dombrowski "Fluvial"
A long muted chain of twisting keys - Chris Dombrowski "Fluvial"
Small epiphanies falling through the fingers - Chris Dombrowski "Fluvial"
Fills with the strange rain of stars - Chris Dombrowski "Fluvial"
Bridges without a trace of threnody - Chris Dombrowski "Fluvial"
From the willow-stitched islands - Chris Dombrowski "Fluvial"
Scores of insufficient names - Chris Dombrowski "Fluvial"
Holy Mother of Arsenic and Lead - Chris Dombrowski "Fluvial"
Blackberries straight from the unsprayed vines - Chris Dombrowski "The Forbidden"
The remnants of anger on my tongue - Chris Dombrowski "Francis"
A swirl of beckoned sparrows - Chris Dombrowski "Francis"
Shoulders slumped with star burden - Chris Dombrowski "Gentle Reader"
Horizon like a querulous line of grief - Chris Dombrowski "Geology Lesson"
The dregs of our nightmares - Chris Dombrowski "Get Up, John"
Reaching into the lineaments of the sun - Chris Dombrowski "Get Up, John"
What the elders meant by grace - Chris Dombrowski "Ghazal in which End Word Repetition Is Implied"
The precise temperature of a tear - Chris Dombrowski "Ghazal in which End Word Repetition Is Implied"
A small braid of mayflies - Chris Dombrowski "Going Home"
A sprig of mint broken - Chris Dombrowski "Going Home"
Sunlight bristling off their coats - Chris Dombrowski "Going Home"
The works and sufferings of light - Chris Dombrowski "Going Home"
Ferry him if you have the oars - Chris Dombrowski "Going Home"
Prodigal the leaves the earth accepts - Chris Dombrowski "Grove"
Breezes eons in the making - Chris Dombrowski "Hammock Poem"
Preempted by three bitter decades - Chris Dombrowski "Hammock Poem"
Dear birds of the tangled ceiling above - Chris Dombrowski "Hammock Poem"
His ragged anthem a wind - Chris Dombrowski "Hear them all"
A wind that stirs the torn tickets - Chris Dombrowski "Hear them all"
Raft of uprooted willow - Chris Dombrowski "Heron Rookery Aubade"
In the cottonwoods' grasp of sky - Chris Dombrowski "Heron Rookery Aubade"
Bright tapestry of boulders before the melt - Chris Dombrowski "Heron Rookery Aubade"
The trees exhale their one green breath - Chris Dombrowski "Heron Rookery Aubade"
Playing baseball with the dead - Chris Dombrowski "A History of Barbed Wire"
Picking chokecherries in the marsh - Chris Dombrowski "A History of Barbed Wire"
Pointed the ghost of a partridge - Chris Dombrowski "The Hunt"
The pheasant's beak full of nightshade - Chris Dombrowski "Hunting All Day beneath the Long Night Moon"
And asked to be moved - Chris Dombrowski "I Canonize Dick Curran"
Seeping acridly from settling ponds - Chris Dombrowski "I Canonize Dick Curran"
Through a footbridge's fenced floor - Chris Dombrowski "I Canonize Dick Curran"
The wide arcs of crows - Chris Dombrowski "I Canonize Dick Curran"
Existed only on ornate canvases - Chris Dombrowski "I Canonize Dick Curran"
Your dreams more potent here - Chris Dombrowski "I'm working on a building"
Explodes with the shrapnel of the miraculous - Chris Dombrowski "It's so hard to dance that way, when it's cold and there's no music"
Water on a rain-spattered stone - Chris Dombrowski "Inscription"
Rising even as they recede - Chris Dombrowski "Just Before Dark"
In the cacophonous gossip of currents - Chris Dombrowski "Just Before Dark"
An aspen missing half its leaves - Chris Dombrowski "Koan"
Feeding rosehips to the cat - Chris Dombrowski "Koan"
Our cadmium needles scatter - Chris Dombrowski "Larches"
The last drops of daylight shimmering - Chris Dombrowski "Late Evening Fugue"
Learned the mind of winter - Chris Dombrowski "Like a December apiary, the mind tapers"
Skipping across waves made of breath - Chris Dombrowski "Like a pearl in a sea of liquid jade"
Strange constellations tracing his steps - Chris Dombrowski "Like a pearl in a sea of liquid jade"
The wind's a mixture of linen and salt - Chris Dombrowski "Little Derivative and Forgivable Anthropomorphism with Dawn"
Redeem all other god-cast stones - Chris Dombrowski "Lunar Calendar"
Coiling tighter with each brief orbit - Chris Dombrowski "May"
Feasted on the numb bugs - Chris Dombrowski "May"
Playing tetherball alone - Chris Dombrowski "May"
The crickets have curfews - Chris Dombrowski "Midwesterly"
A moose crossing the thin August river - Chris Dombrowski "Motherless Children (Traditional)"
Too steep for memory to climb - Chris Dombrowski "Naive Melody"
Death was a wind searching the back of his hand - Chris Dombrowski "Naive Melody"
No longer in the chair where dawn found me - Chris Dombrowski "Naive Melody"
Strum a November midnight - Chris Dombrowski "Nostrums (Bill Monroe)"
Lone as a thumbprint on a frosty windowpane - Chris Dombrowski "Nostrums (Bill Monroe)"
Procured by the wind as its instrument - Chris Dombrowski "Nostrums (Bill Monroe)"
Warm as whiskey chased down with cold water - Chris Dombrowski "Nostrums (Bill Monroe)"
To be worthy of this waking dream - Chris Dombrowski "October Suite"
Grasshoppers black as burn - Chris Dombrowski "October Suite"
Dusty as unlit chandeliers - Chris Dombrowski "October Suite"
Beneath this burial of light - Chris Dombrowski "October Suite"
A mid-June avalanche unseated the peak - Chris Dombrowski "Partial Eclipse / N 46.677, W 114.244"
Filled with dawn's initial hue - Chris Dombrowski "Partial Eclipse / N 46.677, W 114.244"
Until the offending dream gave way - Chris Dombrowski "Partial Eclipse / N 46.677, W 114.244"
Some less threatening visions - Chris Dombrowski "Partial Eclipse / N 46.677, W 114.244"
Water drawn from the cosmos's deepest well - Chris Dombrowski "Partial Eclipse / N 46.677, W 114.244"
Blood rush of the creek - Chris Dombrowski "Partial Eclipse / N 46.677, W 114.244"
A deafening surround to these thoughts - Chris Dombrowski "Partial Eclipse / N 46.677, W 114.244"
Buried warmly under the quilts - Chris Dombrowski "Partial Eclipse / N 46.677, W 114.244"
Audibly sawing the ozone - Chris Dombrowski "Partial Eclipse / N 46.677, W 114.244"
Slitting a seam in the void - Chris Dombrowski "Partial Eclipse / N 46.677, W 114.244"
A starling grasps the gutter - Chris Dombrowski "Poem Beginning and Ending with Haiku"
Inhabit that house of phantom dwelling - Chris Dombrowski "Poem Beginning and Ending with Haiku"
Who wouldn't talk to the birds - Chris Dombrowski "Poem with Several Keatsian References, Poem Burning Up in the Fire I Lit to Warm My Son, or Do as I Say Not as I Do"
The pheasant of an answer flushed - Chris Dombrowski "Poem with Several Keatsian References, Poem Burning Up in the Fire I Lit to Warm My Son, or Do as I Say Not as I Do"
The vale in which souls can drown - Chris Dombrowski "Poem with Several Keatsian References, Poem Burning Up in the Fire I Lit to Warm My Son, or Do as I Say Not as I Do"
Wind in the dead chime of the aspen - Chris Dombrowski "Rex's Georgic: Hunting Morels in Last Year's Burn"
The difference between thistles and burrs - Chris Dombrowski "Rex's Georgic: Hunting Morels in Last Year's Burn"
Late November's agate-light - Chris Dombrowski "The Roofers Listen to Heart's "Crazy on You" as They Work"
The worn steel of belt-hooked hammers - Chris Dombrowski "The Roofers Listen to Heart's "Crazy on You" as They Work"
Knowing little of cathedrals - Chris Dombrowski "The Roofers Listen to Heart's "Crazy on You" as They Work"
Winter fills summer's buckets - Chris Dombrowski "Runt Puppies in the Shade under the Porch"
The canvas on loan from Gabriel - Chris Dombrowski "See that my grave is swept clean"
An anchor plummeting geologically through grass - Chris Dombrowski "See that my grave is swept clean"
Pomp among the grain and barley - Chris Dombrowski "Self-Portrait as Dandelion Head Discovered in the Crop of a Partridge"
Desperate for the meadow's coronation - Chris Dombrowski "Self-Portrait as Dandelion Head Discovered in the Crop of a Partridge"
Parked among thistles - Chris Dombrowski "September Miniatures with Blood and Mars"
Seven separate pictures of ants - Chris Dombrowski "September Miniatures with Blood and Mars"
After the storm the firmament bled - Chris Dombrowski "September Miniatures with Blood and Mars"
The river held in cupped hands - Chris Dombrowski "Serotonin"
Two crows rowing through the rain - Chris Dombrowski "Some Nights the River"
The glasscut-moon healing into midday sky - Chris Dombrowski "Some Nights the River"
These chambers full of fury - Chris Dombrowski "Some Nights the River"
Even the silos' shadows freeze - Chris Dombrowski "Some Nights the River"
Swift song keening against granite - Chris Dombrowski "Some Nights the River"
Broken glass from the self's smashed bottles - Chris Dombrowski "Some Nights the River"
The moon on the disbelieving cliffs - Chris Dombrowski "Some Nights the River"
Elephants watered at the hydrant - Chris Dombrowski "Some Nights the River"
Darkness from the Little Dipper's spoon - Chris Dombrowski "Statesboro Blues"
The tattered hour when moths arrive - Chris Dombrowski "Statesboro Blues"
Stars draining in their sockets - Chris Dombrowski "Still Life with Starlight"
Down here in this lack of wind - Chris Dombrowski "Still Life with Starlight"
Geese falling quiet as stardust - Chris Dombrowski "Still Life with Starlight"
Invisible as a noon constellation - Chris Dombrowski "Strange Lullaby"
Hailstones galloping across the hard earth - Chris Dombrowski "Strange Lullaby"
Something as stubborn as the leaves - Chris Dombrowski "Stubborn Poem"
Until February's first chinook - Chris Dombrowski "Stubborn Poem"
Sand flaring in silence as the iron strikes - Chris Dombrowski "Stubborn Poem"
Eluding dusk's clutch - Chris Dombrowski "Study for the Ridgeline Blue in Winter"
Examine the charred chaos of day - Chris Dombrowski "Study for the Ridgeline Blue in Winter"
Escaping with the last unshattered mirror - Chris Dombrowski "Study for the Ridgeline Blue in Winter"
Surrounded by stems bent by their seeds - Chris Dombrowski "Swale"
Rest your cheek on the shoulder of the mountain - Chris Dombrowski "Tablet"
Girls conversing with magpies - Chris Dombrowski "They Knew Each Leaf Contained the Rain and Sun"
It won't come till yesterday - Chris Dombrowski "They Knew Each Leaf Contained the Rain and Sun"
Allowed the wind its interludes - Chris Dombrowski "They Knew Each Leaf Contained the Rain and Sun"
The mast of a moored cottonwood - Chris Dombrowski "They Tied the Madmen to Trees Beside the River and All the Shrinks Went Out of Business"
Opened the worn doors of his eyes - Chris Dombrowski "They Tied the Madmen to Trees Beside the River and All the Shrinks Went Out of Business"
The pileated woodpecker's maniacal laugh - Chris Dombrowski "They Tied the Madmen to Trees Beside the River and All the Shrinks Went Out of Business"
Found a route out through his eyes - Chris Dombrowski "They Tied the Madmen to Trees Beside the River and All the Shrinks Went Out of Business"
In the weight of last year's skies - Chris Dombrowski "To Carry Water"
Holding a bucket full of leaf-song - Chris Dombrowski "To Carry Water"
As dawn stretched her blue shawl - Chris Dombrowski "To the First of the Getting-Longer Days"
The guilt privilege affords - Chris Dombrowski "To the First of the Getting-Longer Days"
Two shallow cups of shadow - Chris Dombrowski "A Toast"
The old tree burdened with herself - Chris Dombrowski "Trimmings"
Clasp me to this impossible hour - Chris Dombrowski "Trimmings"
And quiet between bird calls - Chris Dombrowski "Trimmings"
Build their improbable nest of sunlight - Chris Dombrowski "Trimmings"
The condemned warehouse of my chest - Chris Dombrowski "Trimmings"
In the house of an instant - Chris Dombrowski "Trimmings"
Towing her trailer of grief - Chris Dombrowski "Trimmings"
Like some strange bouquet for her table - Chris Dombrowski "Trimmings"
Truer representation of the hours' ruse - Chris Dombrowski "Trimmings"
About to sprout like a sudden hope - Chris Dombrowski "Trimmings"
Cinnabars where the flame burns purest - Chris Dombrowski "Trimmings"
A gathering of larch trees - Chris Dombrowski "The Turn"
Listening to billions of sand grains - Chris Dombrowski "The Turn"
A curious lantern's cadmium - Chris Dombrowski "Van Gogh's Palette"
Silver of dew on a sickle - Chris Dombrowski "Van Gogh's Palette"
No less important than the light - Chris Dombrowski "Vespers Beginning as Sheep Tallow in the Hands of a Priest"
Penitent coil of wick - Chris Dombrowski "Vespers Beginning as Sheep Tallow in the Hands of a Priest"
The casual horror of the iron - Chris Dombrowski "Vespers Beginning as Sheep Tallow in the Hands of a Priest"
Open this spare March evening - Chris Dombrowski "Vespers Beginning as Sheep Tallow in the Hands of a Priest"
By now it's another life's list - Chris Dombrowski "Vespers Beginning as Sheep Tallow in the Hands of a Priest"
A kite without a wind to fill it - Chris Dombrowski "Vespers Beginning as Sheep Tallow in the Hands of a Priest"
A blackbird flying so quickly west - Chris Dombrowski "Vespers Beginning as Sheep Tallow in the Hands of a Priest"
As if beneath the stoppage of time - Chris Dombrowski "Vespers Beginning as Sheep Tallow in the Hands of a Priest"
The last statues worthy of adoration - Chris Dombrowski "Vespers Beginning as Sheep Tallow in the Hands of a Priest"
Those things uttered by the seven tongues - Chris Dombrowski "Vespers Beginning as Sheep Tallow in the Hands of a Priest"
The valley's light lapidary in the canyon creases - Chris Dombrowski "Vespers Beginning as Sheep Tallow in the Hands of a Priest"
A bracelet adorning the land's pale wrist - Chris Dombrowski "Was it a sign? I think it probably was"
The thawing February afternoon - Chris Dombrowski "Was it a sign? I think it probably was"
Private islands made of water bottles - Chris Dombrowski "Weekly Apocalyptic or Poem Written on the Wall in an Ascending Space Capsule"
A phrase stricken from our language - Chris Dombrowski "Weekly Apocalyptic or Poem Written on the Wall in an Ascending Space Capsule"
The hour the world wants most from me - Chris Dombrowski "Whittling"
Heralding a savior we've already missed - Chris Dombrowski "Wind's Heroics"
Ledger of its last minutes - Chris Dombrowski "Windowsill"
Fell sideways instead of down - Chris Dombrowski "Wintering"
Brittle leaves sketching their way to rest - Chris Dombrowski "Wintering"
Urging schools of mint fish into shallows - Chris Dombrowski "Wintering"
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The company of an invisible warbler - Chris Dombrowski "Bird in My Boot"
Refugee of the seraphim - Chris Dombrowski "Bird in My Boot"
Upon whose constant intercession I depend - Chris Dombrowski "Bird in My Boot"
To witness the ten thousand worlds - Chris Dombrowski "Blown Snow"
Between the planets' pewter light - Chris Dombrowski "Boreal"
A threadbare sail nightwinds needle through - Chris Dombrowski "Boreal"
Each onlooker's single deepest sorrow unremarked - Chris Dombrowski "Brook Trout"
Reflections of honeysuckle gone to seed - Chris Dombrowski "Bull Elk in October River"
A winter's worth of melting snow - Chris Dombrowski "Coda"
Prayed twice daily to Saint Anne - Chris Dombrowski "Comes to Worse"
The wavering flame of my heartbeat - Chris Dombrowski "Comes to Worse"
Must again retrieve from nothingness - Chris Dombrowski "Comes to Worse"
Whose needles numbered our myriad notions - Chris Dombrowski "Comes to Worse"
The tatters of a dream-scarf that unraveled - Chris Dombrowski "Comes to Worse"
Peppered with a million spent moths - Chris Dombrowski "Comes to Worse"
A riverbank cut deep enough to bury us - Chris Dombrowski "Comes to Worse"
An impact with enough dominion to annihilate - Chris Dombrowski "Comes to Worse"
Another stolen swig of whiskey - Chris Dombrowski "Comes to Worse"
Brief as a July snow - Chris Dombrowski "Comes to Worse"
In the warrens of grief - Chris Dombrowski "Comes to Worse"
The ash's berry clusters not quite blushing - Chris Dombrowski "Comes to Worse"
Dupes an attacking rhino - Chris Dombrowski "Comes to Worse"
Casting her vote for desire - Chris Dombrowski "The Congressman's Daughter"
Far beyond the limits of pursuit - Chris Dombrowski "Cooking Christmas Dinner with My Son, the Runner"
Early in the noon-stabbed dusk - Chris Dombrowski "Direction"
Ink of our excuses - Chris Dombrowski "Direction"
Heeding each momentary beacon - Chris Dombrowski "Direction"
The bottle in which you hold our tears - Chris Dombrowski "Early June, Missoula, Year of the Sheep"
Before sweeping the shards skyward - Chris Dombrowski "Early June, Missoula, Year of the Sheep"
Stir a little sawdust - Chris Dombrowski "Elegy with Fall's Last Filaments"
Strung with quicksilver sunlight - Chris Dombrowski "Elegy with Fall's Last Filaments"
Bound for webs orbiting each other - Chris Dombrowski "Elegy with Fall's Last Filaments"
Pressed sage into a bed - Chris Dombrowski "Epithalamium"
A fractured school of minnows - Chris Dombrowski "Epithalamium"
A plank one might walk to horizon's edge - Chris Dombrowski "Epithalamium"
Sunday afternoon starlight - Chris Dombrowski "February Sidereal with Backyard Doe"
Its billion-mile-long pocket comb - Chris Dombrowski "February Sidereal with Backyard Doe"
Nothing but the distance between the hunter and the hunted - Chris Dombrowski "February Sidereal with Backyard Doe"
February having seeped into bloodstreams - Chris Dombrowski "Fig"
Open the door holding back dawn - Chris Dombrowski "First Hour"
Splinter of dawn through the glass - Chris Dombrowski "First Hour"
The gears of the universe turning - Chris Dombrowski "First Hour"
A sugary alarm clock in the veins - Chris Dombrowski "First Hour"
Watched a doe chewing sage - Chris Dombrowski "First Hour"
Opening the view to thousands of landing geese - Chris Dombrowski "First Hour"
Ridgeline ponderosas wind-pardoned - Chris Dombrowski "Fluvial"
Surviving worshippers of the sky - Chris Dombrowski "Fluvial"
A long muted chain of twisting keys - Chris Dombrowski "Fluvial"
Small epiphanies falling through the fingers - Chris Dombrowski "Fluvial"
Fills with the strange rain of stars - Chris Dombrowski "Fluvial"
Bridges without a trace of threnody - Chris Dombrowski "Fluvial"
From the willow-stitched islands - Chris Dombrowski "Fluvial"
Scores of insufficient names - Chris Dombrowski "Fluvial"
Holy Mother of Arsenic and Lead - Chris Dombrowski "Fluvial"
Blackberries straight from the unsprayed vines - Chris Dombrowski "The Forbidden"
The remnants of anger on my tongue - Chris Dombrowski "Francis"
A swirl of beckoned sparrows - Chris Dombrowski "Francis"
Shoulders slumped with star burden - Chris Dombrowski "Gentle Reader"
Horizon like a querulous line of grief - Chris Dombrowski "Geology Lesson"
The dregs of our nightmares - Chris Dombrowski "Get Up, John"
Reaching into the lineaments of the sun - Chris Dombrowski "Get Up, John"
What the elders meant by grace - Chris Dombrowski "Ghazal in which End Word Repetition Is Implied"
The precise temperature of a tear - Chris Dombrowski "Ghazal in which End Word Repetition Is Implied"
A small braid of mayflies - Chris Dombrowski "Going Home"
A sprig of mint broken - Chris Dombrowski "Going Home"
Sunlight bristling off their coats - Chris Dombrowski "Going Home"
The works and sufferings of light - Chris Dombrowski "Going Home"
Ferry him if you have the oars - Chris Dombrowski "Going Home"
Prodigal the leaves the earth accepts - Chris Dombrowski "Grove"
Breezes eons in the making - Chris Dombrowski "Hammock Poem"
Preempted by three bitter decades - Chris Dombrowski "Hammock Poem"
Dear birds of the tangled ceiling above - Chris Dombrowski "Hammock Poem"
His ragged anthem a wind - Chris Dombrowski "Hear them all"
A wind that stirs the torn tickets - Chris Dombrowski "Hear them all"
Raft of uprooted willow - Chris Dombrowski "Heron Rookery Aubade"
In the cottonwoods' grasp of sky - Chris Dombrowski "Heron Rookery Aubade"
Bright tapestry of boulders before the melt - Chris Dombrowski "Heron Rookery Aubade"
The trees exhale their one green breath - Chris Dombrowski "Heron Rookery Aubade"
Playing baseball with the dead - Chris Dombrowski "A History of Barbed Wire"
Picking chokecherries in the marsh - Chris Dombrowski "A History of Barbed Wire"
Pointed the ghost of a partridge - Chris Dombrowski "The Hunt"
The pheasant's beak full of nightshade - Chris Dombrowski "Hunting All Day beneath the Long Night Moon"
And asked to be moved - Chris Dombrowski "I Canonize Dick Curran"
Seeping acridly from settling ponds - Chris Dombrowski "I Canonize Dick Curran"
Through a footbridge's fenced floor - Chris Dombrowski "I Canonize Dick Curran"
The wide arcs of crows - Chris Dombrowski "I Canonize Dick Curran"
Existed only on ornate canvases - Chris Dombrowski "I Canonize Dick Curran"
Your dreams more potent here - Chris Dombrowski "I'm working on a building"
Explodes with the shrapnel of the miraculous - Chris Dombrowski "It's so hard to dance that way, when it's cold and there's no music"
Water on a rain-spattered stone - Chris Dombrowski "Inscription"
Rising even as they recede - Chris Dombrowski "Just Before Dark"
In the cacophonous gossip of currents - Chris Dombrowski "Just Before Dark"
An aspen missing half its leaves - Chris Dombrowski "Koan"
Feeding rosehips to the cat - Chris Dombrowski "Koan"
Our cadmium needles scatter - Chris Dombrowski "Larches"
The last drops of daylight shimmering - Chris Dombrowski "Late Evening Fugue"
Learned the mind of winter - Chris Dombrowski "Like a December apiary, the mind tapers"
Skipping across waves made of breath - Chris Dombrowski "Like a pearl in a sea of liquid jade"
Strange constellations tracing his steps - Chris Dombrowski "Like a pearl in a sea of liquid jade"
The wind's a mixture of linen and salt - Chris Dombrowski "Little Derivative and Forgivable Anthropomorphism with Dawn"
Redeem all other god-cast stones - Chris Dombrowski "Lunar Calendar"
Coiling tighter with each brief orbit - Chris Dombrowski "May"
Feasted on the numb bugs - Chris Dombrowski "May"
Playing tetherball alone - Chris Dombrowski "May"
The crickets have curfews - Chris Dombrowski "Midwesterly"
A moose crossing the thin August river - Chris Dombrowski "Motherless Children (Traditional)"
Too steep for memory to climb - Chris Dombrowski "Naive Melody"
Death was a wind searching the back of his hand - Chris Dombrowski "Naive Melody"
No longer in the chair where dawn found me - Chris Dombrowski "Naive Melody"
Strum a November midnight - Chris Dombrowski "Nostrums (Bill Monroe)"
Lone as a thumbprint on a frosty windowpane - Chris Dombrowski "Nostrums (Bill Monroe)"
Procured by the wind as its instrument - Chris Dombrowski "Nostrums (Bill Monroe)"
Warm as whiskey chased down with cold water - Chris Dombrowski "Nostrums (Bill Monroe)"
To be worthy of this waking dream - Chris Dombrowski "October Suite"
Grasshoppers black as burn - Chris Dombrowski "October Suite"
Dusty as unlit chandeliers - Chris Dombrowski "October Suite"
Beneath this burial of light - Chris Dombrowski "October Suite"
A mid-June avalanche unseated the peak - Chris Dombrowski "Partial Eclipse / N 46.677, W 114.244"
Filled with dawn's initial hue - Chris Dombrowski "Partial Eclipse / N 46.677, W 114.244"
Until the offending dream gave way - Chris Dombrowski "Partial Eclipse / N 46.677, W 114.244"
Some less threatening visions - Chris Dombrowski "Partial Eclipse / N 46.677, W 114.244"
Water drawn from the cosmos's deepest well - Chris Dombrowski "Partial Eclipse / N 46.677, W 114.244"
Blood rush of the creek - Chris Dombrowski "Partial Eclipse / N 46.677, W 114.244"
A deafening surround to these thoughts - Chris Dombrowski "Partial Eclipse / N 46.677, W 114.244"
Buried warmly under the quilts - Chris Dombrowski "Partial Eclipse / N 46.677, W 114.244"
Audibly sawing the ozone - Chris Dombrowski "Partial Eclipse / N 46.677, W 114.244"
Slitting a seam in the void - Chris Dombrowski "Partial Eclipse / N 46.677, W 114.244"
A starling grasps the gutter - Chris Dombrowski "Poem Beginning and Ending with Haiku"
Inhabit that house of phantom dwelling - Chris Dombrowski "Poem Beginning and Ending with Haiku"
Who wouldn't talk to the birds - Chris Dombrowski "Poem with Several Keatsian References, Poem Burning Up in the Fire I Lit to Warm My Son, or Do as I Say Not as I Do"
The pheasant of an answer flushed - Chris Dombrowski "Poem with Several Keatsian References, Poem Burning Up in the Fire I Lit to Warm My Son, or Do as I Say Not as I Do"
The vale in which souls can drown - Chris Dombrowski "Poem with Several Keatsian References, Poem Burning Up in the Fire I Lit to Warm My Son, or Do as I Say Not as I Do"
Wind in the dead chime of the aspen - Chris Dombrowski "Rex's Georgic: Hunting Morels in Last Year's Burn"
The difference between thistles and burrs - Chris Dombrowski "Rex's Georgic: Hunting Morels in Last Year's Burn"
Late November's agate-light - Chris Dombrowski "The Roofers Listen to Heart's "Crazy on You" as They Work"
The worn steel of belt-hooked hammers - Chris Dombrowski "The Roofers Listen to Heart's "Crazy on You" as They Work"
Knowing little of cathedrals - Chris Dombrowski "The Roofers Listen to Heart's "Crazy on You" as They Work"
Winter fills summer's buckets - Chris Dombrowski "Runt Puppies in the Shade under the Porch"
The canvas on loan from Gabriel - Chris Dombrowski "See that my grave is swept clean"
An anchor plummeting geologically through grass - Chris Dombrowski "See that my grave is swept clean"
Pomp among the grain and barley - Chris Dombrowski "Self-Portrait as Dandelion Head Discovered in the Crop of a Partridge"
Desperate for the meadow's coronation - Chris Dombrowski "Self-Portrait as Dandelion Head Discovered in the Crop of a Partridge"
Parked among thistles - Chris Dombrowski "September Miniatures with Blood and Mars"
Seven separate pictures of ants - Chris Dombrowski "September Miniatures with Blood and Mars"
After the storm the firmament bled - Chris Dombrowski "September Miniatures with Blood and Mars"
The river held in cupped hands - Chris Dombrowski "Serotonin"
Two crows rowing through the rain - Chris Dombrowski "Some Nights the River"
The glasscut-moon healing into midday sky - Chris Dombrowski "Some Nights the River"
These chambers full of fury - Chris Dombrowski "Some Nights the River"
Even the silos' shadows freeze - Chris Dombrowski "Some Nights the River"
Swift song keening against granite - Chris Dombrowski "Some Nights the River"
Broken glass from the self's smashed bottles - Chris Dombrowski "Some Nights the River"
The moon on the disbelieving cliffs - Chris Dombrowski "Some Nights the River"
Elephants watered at the hydrant - Chris Dombrowski "Some Nights the River"
Darkness from the Little Dipper's spoon - Chris Dombrowski "Statesboro Blues"
The tattered hour when moths arrive - Chris Dombrowski "Statesboro Blues"
Stars draining in their sockets - Chris Dombrowski "Still Life with Starlight"
Down here in this lack of wind - Chris Dombrowski "Still Life with Starlight"
Geese falling quiet as stardust - Chris Dombrowski "Still Life with Starlight"
Invisible as a noon constellation - Chris Dombrowski "Strange Lullaby"
Hailstones galloping across the hard earth - Chris Dombrowski "Strange Lullaby"
Something as stubborn as the leaves - Chris Dombrowski "Stubborn Poem"
Until February's first chinook - Chris Dombrowski "Stubborn Poem"
Sand flaring in silence as the iron strikes - Chris Dombrowski "Stubborn Poem"
Eluding dusk's clutch - Chris Dombrowski "Study for the Ridgeline Blue in Winter"
Examine the charred chaos of day - Chris Dombrowski "Study for the Ridgeline Blue in Winter"
Escaping with the last unshattered mirror - Chris Dombrowski "Study for the Ridgeline Blue in Winter"
Surrounded by stems bent by their seeds - Chris Dombrowski "Swale"
Rest your cheek on the shoulder of the mountain - Chris Dombrowski "Tablet"
Girls conversing with magpies - Chris Dombrowski "They Knew Each Leaf Contained the Rain and Sun"
It won't come till yesterday - Chris Dombrowski "They Knew Each Leaf Contained the Rain and Sun"
Allowed the wind its interludes - Chris Dombrowski "They Knew Each Leaf Contained the Rain and Sun"
The mast of a moored cottonwood - Chris Dombrowski "They Tied the Madmen to Trees Beside the River and All the Shrinks Went Out of Business"
Opened the worn doors of his eyes - Chris Dombrowski "They Tied the Madmen to Trees Beside the River and All the Shrinks Went Out of Business"
The pileated woodpecker's maniacal laugh - Chris Dombrowski "They Tied the Madmen to Trees Beside the River and All the Shrinks Went Out of Business"
Found a route out through his eyes - Chris Dombrowski "They Tied the Madmen to Trees Beside the River and All the Shrinks Went Out of Business"
In the weight of last year's skies - Chris Dombrowski "To Carry Water"
Holding a bucket full of leaf-song - Chris Dombrowski "To Carry Water"
As dawn stretched her blue shawl - Chris Dombrowski "To the First of the Getting-Longer Days"
The guilt privilege affords - Chris Dombrowski "To the First of the Getting-Longer Days"
Two shallow cups of shadow - Chris Dombrowski "A Toast"
The old tree burdened with herself - Chris Dombrowski "Trimmings"
Clasp me to this impossible hour - Chris Dombrowski "Trimmings"
And quiet between bird calls - Chris Dombrowski "Trimmings"
Build their improbable nest of sunlight - Chris Dombrowski "Trimmings"
The condemned warehouse of my chest - Chris Dombrowski "Trimmings"
In the house of an instant - Chris Dombrowski "Trimmings"
Towing her trailer of grief - Chris Dombrowski "Trimmings"
Like some strange bouquet for her table - Chris Dombrowski "Trimmings"
Truer representation of the hours' ruse - Chris Dombrowski "Trimmings"
About to sprout like a sudden hope - Chris Dombrowski "Trimmings"
Cinnabars where the flame burns purest - Chris Dombrowski "Trimmings"
A gathering of larch trees - Chris Dombrowski "The Turn"
Listening to billions of sand grains - Chris Dombrowski "The Turn"
A curious lantern's cadmium - Chris Dombrowski "Van Gogh's Palette"
Silver of dew on a sickle - Chris Dombrowski "Van Gogh's Palette"
No less important than the light - Chris Dombrowski "Vespers Beginning as Sheep Tallow in the Hands of a Priest"
Penitent coil of wick - Chris Dombrowski "Vespers Beginning as Sheep Tallow in the Hands of a Priest"
The casual horror of the iron - Chris Dombrowski "Vespers Beginning as Sheep Tallow in the Hands of a Priest"
Open this spare March evening - Chris Dombrowski "Vespers Beginning as Sheep Tallow in the Hands of a Priest"
By now it's another life's list - Chris Dombrowski "Vespers Beginning as Sheep Tallow in the Hands of a Priest"
A kite without a wind to fill it - Chris Dombrowski "Vespers Beginning as Sheep Tallow in the Hands of a Priest"
A blackbird flying so quickly west - Chris Dombrowski "Vespers Beginning as Sheep Tallow in the Hands of a Priest"
As if beneath the stoppage of time - Chris Dombrowski "Vespers Beginning as Sheep Tallow in the Hands of a Priest"
The last statues worthy of adoration - Chris Dombrowski "Vespers Beginning as Sheep Tallow in the Hands of a Priest"
Those things uttered by the seven tongues - Chris Dombrowski "Vespers Beginning as Sheep Tallow in the Hands of a Priest"
The valley's light lapidary in the canyon creases - Chris Dombrowski "Vespers Beginning as Sheep Tallow in the Hands of a Priest"
A bracelet adorning the land's pale wrist - Chris Dombrowski "Was it a sign? I think it probably was"
The thawing February afternoon - Chris Dombrowski "Was it a sign? I think it probably was"
Private islands made of water bottles - Chris Dombrowski "Weekly Apocalyptic or Poem Written on the Wall in an Ascending Space Capsule"
A phrase stricken from our language - Chris Dombrowski "Weekly Apocalyptic or Poem Written on the Wall in an Ascending Space Capsule"
The hour the world wants most from me - Chris Dombrowski "Whittling"
Heralding a savior we've already missed - Chris Dombrowski "Wind's Heroics"
Ledger of its last minutes - Chris Dombrowski "Windowsill"
Fell sideways instead of down - Chris Dombrowski "Wintering"
Brittle leaves sketching their way to rest - Chris Dombrowski "Wintering"
Urging schools of mint fish into shallows - Chris Dombrowski "Wintering"
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