January mask
The play and pitch of light on a tree, the taste of morning air, a grey-laced cloud, the push of an east wind, a red sky, a wan moon as seen through an upstairs...
Category: Poetics
Vestigial wings
And now it’s done. And now the year begins. So uncertain, so predictable. And we will run along the magnetic lines, constrained by clocks, waiting for new...
The winter poem
The winter poem comes harder. You have to wake up in the dark, throw on your lined coveralls, your mitts and wool hat, grab the pails from the porch by the sepa...
Lamentations and poetry’s high calling
Perhaps it’s this illness, but my mind is a windowless basement. At the moment, a bit feverish, pallid, shaky—on the broader realm, the memory for spellin...