That Day
If that was to be the day: some mist of rain barn swallows darting clouds riled and curdling jack pines …
If that was to be the day: some mist of rain barn swallows darting clouds riled and curdling jack pines …
Some of us understood when we turned it over and became more intimate with what the day had in store; …
A fading glare lights this lost memory of an afternoon. Lost by everyone in this photograph, drawn through age, turned …
Television tells us the time of day but confuses the decades, not beyond recognition just out of focus, cataracts in …
Each thing speaks of itself and in speaking names, refers, connects others into the fabric of things. Each day has its own …
Your grave is empty. Sleep could not lay its silence over the remnants of your body; roam the Earth, enlightened, glistening, …
Blood turns on itself. Body becomes soul, skin so hot, beyond burning, it turns the blue of perfect ice. Hair …
Quiet as shadow in twilight, unnoticed in the world of men, unseen by women. I swallow words until they stop. …
The tide on the beach is a slow, quiet speech. You are here with me to listen. No one can speak …
A day in the woods can set me straight, or leave behind an unbalanced memory of what I was before entering the …