Year after year, rain enters your diary, as the Japanese say, and an exhaustive sadness prevails. And then suddenly one day, you find the love of your life. Happenstance or blind luck; what does it matter, as long as two people meet and life is lived more intensely for all that. Because nothing brings such…
I am on my knees again, mop without stick, over old fir trees turned into flooring. A thought stood once in the middle, near the cookstove, left heel and right heel. Left hand and right hand, I wash around it. Thought without handle, thought without hands, without lemons or Serengeti. One breath, another, one corner…
He managed the walk to Main Street, three blocks, two long avenues, and didn’t worry about how he looked—a big whitehead poking along the sidewalk. Things were getting better, not that Tiny knew the absolute right moment to leave his house, because out the back door his garden merged with theirs, and the neighbors might…
His parents placed him on a Greyhound with twenty dollars, a plastic bag full of asparagus from the small garden out back, a satchel containing his meager summer clothes, and a letter. The asparagus he tossed in a trashcan when the bus made its first stop in Pennsylvania. The letter he opened before they’d even…
Loud enough for Stentor himself, the waiting-room video recycles hour after hour the same weary sequence reciting the grim signs of glaucoma, advising Restasis to increase tear production, praising the League of the Legally Blind, which is what I am in one eye, the bad eye, as if it had done something wrong and needed…
Scarcely had our break-of-day whale-watching trip on Faxafloi Bay been canceled because of high waves than our house-minding daughter would weigh in with the news her dog, the selfsame stray we took in fifteen years ago, has died. She insists on digging Toto’s grave hard by Oscar’s, there on the crest of the leach field….
His parents placed him on a Greyhound with twenty dollars, a plastic bag full of asparagus from the small garden out back, a satchel containing his meager summer clothes, and a letter. The asparagus he tossed in a trashcan when the bus made its first stop in Pennsylvania. The letter he opened before they’d even…
Death, in the orderly procession of random events on this gradually expiring planet crooked in a negligible arm of a minor galaxy adrift among millions of others bursting apart in the amnion of space, will, said Socrates, be either a dreamless slumber without end or a migration of the soul from one place to another,…
“Da molte stele mi vien questa luce” —Dante I. Sea Road, No Map I said to you I will die if I stay and you said Jesus we’ll die anyway. You spoke as if I did not exist. What world would have me? A ship.? She moves me on from impossible Ireland, the wrack of…
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