When I began Zion Offramp in the summer of 2015—at first without title, then under another title best forgotten—I knew little of where I was going, only that I wanted to attempt a poem of substantial ...
The smell of pine, the taste of peppermint, the all-knowing eyes of the 40 nutcrackers in my collection—I wait all year for the day after Thanksgiving, where I can freely bust out my Christmas village ...