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Articles
The End of Politics
The living soul wants toast and coffee, warm / beside a window with a square of grass / outside, a smudge of sun, a lifting swarm...
Our Daughter Beside the Sea: Blue Hill, Maine
The seaside rock she sits on shines a blaze / of purple shell and matte-glazed films of moss. / She perches there, bent knees to chest, to gaze / the gray and frosty feathered sea across. ...
Ignatius to the Romans
Be silent. Hush. Take up the sound of ooze / like oil from olives that the presses bruise. / Or be the sound of fresh baked loaves, the sound...
