Translations on Waking in an Italian Cemetery
Only a river, a washed-up
Sparrow, I whisper this to Kriti.
From The Seventh Circle of The Raven Hell
These days I need an icepick just to
walk to the kitchen
Writing of windows, the windows break—
Silent ballerina, again.
in an Italian
Two letters to Victoria, alone
on the table, I
Them, quickly, Brooklyn