this telling of sky: •
the love it holds out to clouds •
protective of stars. Continue reading →
When I have fears that I may cease to be • Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain, Continue reading →
The last of April, green thrown lightly to •
the near hills, a scarf catching the last sun Continue reading →
Just there, behind a stump, a tiny man
sitting quiet, a greenish hat cocked so. Continue reading →
Just before I remember what I was •
before all of this, before all of this, Continue reading →
All man’s miseries derive from not being able to sit quietly in a room alone.
