Author Archives: Krysia Jopek

The newly-fallen snow lights up the night. We are beholden in the field of the poem. When the planes lean down into their lights to land, we still ourselves in sink holes from long-ago buried tree trunks. No one really … Continue reading →

Sleep comes and wants to take us. Where? I ask, but sleep doesn’t answer. Dreams pouring the boiled kettle over frozen birdbaths. Winter drinking darkness and fire, domino-ing subtractions. The holiday misplaced its presents, your blue notebook of revisions, my … Continue reading →

The stitching of the series reveals our nomad names. It’s not too late to play the shortest day against the new hour of ice-moon. Hello. The new book climbed the house with prognostications we could’t claim. The dream neurologists said … Continue reading →

The House is quiet. It can’t get any darker than 4:15 in December. He said my eyes glowed green in the afternoon light before the sun gently fell. The garage was cleaned enough to house the car. There was enough … Continue reading →

There’s an envelope with a song for you I left in your mailbox. A nuthatch in autumn leaves wrapped in white velvet that won’t last the night. At the LOST & FOUND, I can’t wake up. The wooden ruler with … Continue reading →

The brain wanted to be skin that healed quickly. Skin wanted to feel abstractions like hierarchy or revenge. Stars wished upon falling humans. Someone waited at the bottom of the stairs to catch the subject of the study. There was … Continue reading →

You should float in the sea to heal your open wounds. Avoid the stretcher with the body that can’t surf air. Salt gives the mouth more room. The shrinking door or floor. It’s hard to say. When fire takes down … Continue reading →

The wind warned demise. Side events drop the hardwood floor with winding banisters. The canvas of sky and its pendant of sun dissipate dread for a weekend. You should look away when the sports car crunches the guard rail. Chinese … Continue reading →

The last day of summer took the hero down. When you stop believing in things, you become free. Over-ripe grape and cherry tomatoes lose the rotting trellis. On the stone marking incremental bloodshed, I sat with a paring knife to … Continue reading →

The night of handsome stars dishevels faint moonlight. We were encroaching answers while better questions wrote decisively on missing green stones. All our wrongs drown in September’s river rush, somewhere pooled with strange kindness. Unfortunate misdemeanors muddled plans to take … Continue reading →