Harry Newman

this is not the woodsand wildlife is not two chipmunks scampering across the sidewalk the trees stand here in landscaped disorder shrugging leaves with seasoned . . . . Continue Reading »

I see the treesyou’ve seen and knownpoised in mute witnessthe baled hay hunchedlike insatiable livestockgnawing its wayback to the earththe river muttering madlyits secrets swallowedunder the . . . . Continue Reading »