I am already a wild ghost – only ever half here. How can something like that die?
Out West, were the fog creeps low and steady over the hills and twists
up the morning dew and rising sun in its fingers, there is enough of what is real
to buoy up this freckled skin forever.
About Kate Kilcup
Descent
Palm fronds shudder in the wind,
shaking off light, like tinsel.
I left the thick, wet state
and descended along the coast
to live in this strange desert
of coyotes in the hills, barbed clubs
growing out of the ground…