The Hummingbird Says We Can Fly into the Smallest Places to Heal This late in our lives, the sugar still drawsus to its source. This side of it, I look into the rainand my thoughts are always and to the end,of you. Can someone tell me what rain isbesides weeping? Precipitatemeans both the cause of…

with a title from Jens Lekman I want to begin by telling you I was a child unnaturally obsessed with dying. But no—though God pulled the drum of my skin so taut, its song  rendered my body foreign to itself, my fixationwas wholly natural. And though a seed always already has all it needs to bear fruit,…

Memory trundles across her face, rippling    beneath her eyes like a loose thread pulled,   pleating the fabric skin behind it, on the rare  occasion a nest call hums in the background of a series maman watched as a child: it was the musa, ku taghi? bird, she’d explain when she found an episode online, a…