Not reaching there, the place | you started out for | Quietly, subtly, the place changes because of your absence | Leaves fall, and the snow is particularly deep | The station master | finds himself one day | in a reverie | staring out into the open country | and all the nuances of snow | overwhelm him | Where did you think | it was? | Soon a new form of perfection | makes you a part | though you are not aware of it | and in the bore and purr of a fan | hanker to get away | out of the office | to somewhere still | tainted with heaven

Manage your expectations, that’s what | they told him || Learn to think small, they meant | And, slowly, he did | Naturally, the limits of his life contracted | like a body | wizening with age || Tiny deer | emerge from the woods, the edge | of God is close || What is consummate to a life, what | future should be invoked with care? || She no longer | misses the music, although | when she was younger | it made a direction for her spirit | and as she cried | at the climax | it seemed to offer her a place | she could set out for


from the series fleeting pixel (series of 1,000 poems, 2012–2016)