excerpt

He inspected the fire pit and felt the warmth coming from the ashes. He took some wood and restarted the fire, then his small saucepan from his backpack, filled it halfway with water and half a handful of sage tea, and set it over the fire to boil. He wondered what to do with the dead wolf. He ate a piece of his bread along with a cup of the hot, boiling tea.
The sun had climbed to its height on the eastern horizon. George decided to bury the wolf and took his club and a piece of wood and placed them on each side of the dead animal. He covered the wolf’s body with stones and rocks, which he put on top of the wolf’s grave, making a small mound that completely covered the dead animal.
Upon finishing his rite, he stood momentarily and looked at the grave mount. His mind ran to the time when he let a handful of dirt fall over the casket of his grandfather. It was his farewell. And today he said
farewell to the dead wolf by placing the last stone over the burial site.
He felt good. He smiled. Before leaving, he put out the fire, gathered his things, put the backpack on his shoulders, and walked away with a smile still lighting his face.

https://draft2digital.com/book/4250839#print

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763866

Long-listed for the 2023 Griffin Poetry Awards

2023 Longlist Announcement

Interception
He sat at the stairs, so serene, as though there was
not any fame in the world or like his father who, when
he died, he left alone, leaving his austere mask on the table;
then the day went by; time when the souls of drunkards
come back like flies on their empty glasses and the hallway
turns dark, so that the children won’t lie, and, oh sleep,
wherein we die leaving no footprints and only the blind
keep vigil with their hand over the dogs’ eyes groping
on the indifference of the streets.

https://draft2digital.com/book/4051627

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763564

excerpt

“Last night we entered it. You’ll be fine. I’ll send for a hen
everyday and have the cook make you broth,” I said, standing up.
He grabbed me by the arm.
“We have to get out of the ship fast. Someone could have
recognized the ship from land and sent word. Gather the crew on
deck. Make them swear on their mother’s head that no word will be
said about the plague. They’ll burn the ship if they know. Promise
me. No, swear it, on my head.”
I remembered what he had told me about the scarred man who
had friends in high places. I was already planning how to get us out
of Seville as soon as possible. But Bartolomé was so sick I wasn’t sure
he would survive much longer without proper care.
The river was busy with ships and boats of all sizes. The shores
were alive with people and beasts loading and unloading ships. It
took us several days to get to the appropriate place and, after
dropping anchor close to shore, Bartolomé’s page, the Canary, rushed
into the cabin and spoke in my ear. It was the worst news possible.
“What are you saying, boy?” I grabbed him by the shoulder.
“Who told you that?”
“The new bosun, Father. He says there is a party of guards, and
they have come to arrest the captain.”
“Arrest him?”
He shrugged.
“Tell the bosun to come.”
The Canary left, his whistling unnatural and tense.
The bosun arrived and confirmed it. The captain was to be
arrested. I didn’t have time to learn why. I looked at his greyish
countenance, hollow cheeks, cracked lips, eyes sunken in dark
circles. Bartolomé would never survive the Inquisition, much less a
civil jail.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562848

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073522

Euroclydon*
We travel on a Roman galley
convicts and merchants and legionaries
the island of Pasiphae to our right and
straight ahead toward the sundown the eternal city
each of us with a bag of belongings
we carry a gift for our fiancée
hope and concern and overused hulls
silk and wedding gold for the marketplace
half way quite unexpectedly the tempest started
the typhoid wind from the Numibia sands
we tossed all our belongings into the sea
we wished just to be saved
but Euroclydon the great river with its opposite currents
isn’t appeased by supplications and cries
luckily we had amongst us one who by chance
made sure we remembered of the bread

• Euroclydon – Northeastern wind

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https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763408