Her eyes beguile as only the eyes of the beautiful dead can beguile and beckon: as eye-signs in a rebus of painful desire. In her wan complexion, a golden aura endowed by our staring enhances her presence, detailing her sudden, decisive autonomy. And how to proceed? In the light of her murder each clue is…
In every direction from here the uneven hills make a great earthly bowl which we live in. My heart has arrived in the countryside— and would have me consider, on occasion, its increase. Every morning our dog sleeps in the field in the sun. When she dies I will bury her there, deep so the…
In water so clear it is taken for air, these fish maneuver like pilots: light-headed, they tilt their rudders for balance. To one side, a plaque tells how a fish may possess a “swimbladder”: filled, it suspends him weightlessly like a still ball whirling on a fountain. We forget this has only to do with…
Not dolls! Beware the child who plays with them, who handles little men and women which may even, like us, have names to be called by and live in rooms, scale models of home: then beware, the child who plays with dolls plays …
He had spent the morning shooting birds out of the air. Along the lower edge of the field he worked each week, the dog pressed before him through tall, autumn grasses, pressed ahead, then stopped. Birds burst up toward the light, up into the perforated air. Among the hardwoods, between their roots and the creek…
Speckled grey smooth belly of a lake trout. Azure swirls, cerulean glaze plum-rose smear runs clear along the lip. What a pleasing affirmative heft these bowls smoking clean from the dishwater blessed with a calm and rightness bless us.
1. When they are babies, don’t put them down, even for the telephone 2. Feed them whenever they want 3. They must not cry! (Colic can be relieved by placing them, belly down, on the dryer, while it is running warm) 4. Don’t make them sleep alone 5. Sleep with them until they are four…
A woman sobs on the toilet. Hearing her through the wall, I imagine the pink lace unraveled from her nightgown as she strokes her knees. Upstairs there’s a pop. I suppose a retired barber spread lather on a balloon to test his swollen hands; now he’ll hang himself. No, perhaps two teenagers shyly undressing for…
Transience of all things mutability odes ruins something any thing two step. In college I had a teacher he wrote a book One Man’s Meter he sang Keats to “You’re the cream in my coffee” and advised me “Read a good book after dinner every night.”
No products in the cart.