The Waste Land Footnote
The Waste Land Footnote Outside the leaves are falling — yellow leaves. Inside, all my experiments with life are unraveling. I was fooled into having faith in s...
Category: Poetics
I have looked at stars and not been moved
At Otium Sanctum: I welcome my three-in-the-morning nocturnal interludes from the bed covers. After pausing beneath a spruce tree I walk the short stone path do...
On spiritual experience
The chipping sparrow hunts the browning grass. It’s curious. Its hunting and pecking a pretence to draw near the oddity that sits in a wooden chair: the miscrea...
Watching the long bones of the alder branches
I was sent this poem (and picture) not long after the death of my father-in-law. As there are many ways to live, there are many ways to grieve—the faithf...