Jane L. Carman Biography

it’s nearly noon and the sun slices
through the thick spring fog, dark
with winter’s gloom, heavy with fatality:
the spent daffodil’s bloom, the cut
...

Gazing at the still
white body
I half-expect
water colored eyes
...

Despite transparent walls
the caterpillar
chews asclepsia
a regimen
...

I picture you
legs bent
feet on your highs
their permanent resting place
...

I am a strong nation
I wield power
to the right
to the left and back
...