1. I knocked on the picture window of the Marlin Cafe, trying to get the bartender’s attention, so I could get in and have a Sunday morning hangover drink. The Marlin was an old man’s dive on Broadway near Cathedral Parkway, a street that everyone in the neighborhood called 110th Street. Technically, the bar was…
Furious snow cardinals & diode array. Methuselah walks by me in coats. Vast brackets of light. Those sugar packets on the road: a branch encased in ice would almost seem to indicate them. The first bomb opens itself in space. By red by half-silvered light—“to home.” How that a life were but a place?…
Bones like a bird’s you quicken your hands, flit and mock, take stock of who’s watching— every move a melodrama, a poised snap, a shot that shapes you as the lead of a film no one can stop. Your fingers play invisible keyboards, your toes point, turn out in stance, your…
The summer school boys wore coats and ties, even in the heat. They were the irreverent children of suburban lawyers, of diplomats, of hopeful scientists working in the big federally funded labs outside of the city. When their parents dropped them off at the top of the school’s long drive, the boys’ required coats were…
We would like to grow herbs, cooking herbs and chamomile and lavender, and keep birds, farm fish, collect dogs and cats and horses. There isn’t enough room in the apartment. We need a plant to cover the litter boxes in the bathroom. There’s an unfinished birdcage you’ve built in the bedroom and now you’ve started…
for Grace There’s an oak leaf, one caught in the latch on the door lodged like a letter in a letter box. It knocks slowly, eight-prongs the wind tips it back, head leaning away stem like a tail, wind knocking softly turning over the life of a tough brown leaf. Stronger than a grasping hand,…
It was only because he liked to sketch that he noticed it at all. Spring was late and there were still large patches of snow; as he rode along he noted the contrast, light and dark, the shapes and mounds, the texture. That’s all he was thinking when his horse snorted once, the air from…
Made by what I read Slippage To think a fall broken as not a stumble but a certain voice among the trees Listen Listen I am the ghost of undivided attention I am what Saul saw on the road near Damascus I am the ancient sigh pushed out on the…
Because the bullet was a dream before it was a bird. Because the bullet was a dream before it alighted in the child’s body while he looked at a pigeon wobbling through the air. Because the child has moved into photographs on mantels and the dreamer’s hands are folded in his lap and have not…
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