Nathan Lipps

Onion Cloud Form: acrylic on panel (ephemeral), 30 x 40 in. Celeste Goyer

Because They Hunger, They Take

Starlings have overtaken

the bird feeder.

They pass through this way

stay a few days then carry on.


Their metallic coats shimmer.

The heads of grass along the forest fringe

about to drop into womb

go unnoticed.


The mourning doves linger about

beneath the basket of seeds

waiting, discussing Dante

and economics, what poverty means

if it means anything

in a colony on the coast.

Waiting. And the starlings eat.

They eat it all.

That Passion is Also a Suffering We Have Forgotten





We place our trust in the absence anticipated.

The empty plate. A slow dissolution of guilt

after throwing stone against glass.

The farmers beyond this hill plant their seeds

almost hoping for drought

a reason to look upwards

feel the held in breath of galaxies

& withhold their existence

in exchange for a god

of air & money & the praise of lack.


We make allowance for the field

That it may be observed.

But to touch is to suffer.





Another coast. Land & water & their struggle.

A small storm beaten row boat.

Its wooden ribs exposed

to the consequence of every moment.

This pull of a moon

despite the distance

measured only in its pushing of water

high or low in and out. The terror of simplicity.

Its moorings finally worn through

the boat drifts

into the vast terror

of what feels like freedom

where a great and nervous god moves about.