The Islands of Coney Island

In the spring of 2020, amidst the coronavirus pandemic, my daughters and I moved into a tiny attic apartment. It was directly across from the aboveground subway, and at all hours of the day and night, a voice narrated the trains: where they were going, where they came from, when the doors would close and catch you.

Included poems include:

Shadows

Main St., New Hope

The Transformative Power of Not Showing Up

After the world ends

Monument Valley

Reverse Ghosts

Off a Cliff and into the Hands of G-d

And the photos include  🏖, 🌊, and  🌃.