Morri Creech

Sure as that first command which strung the light like thread onto a loom to stitch the finished tapestry of sight, he flips a switch and instantly the room reweaves its intricacies of warp and weft: chair canted against the wall, nightstand strewn with coins and papers, shawl draping one lamp . . . . Continue Reading »

Carel Fabritius. 1654, oil on panel, 35.2 cm. x 22.8 cm. The bird is fiction though the paint is real— the paint, that is, of the original. This one’s a copy pasted in a frame. Each hour the gold light on his wall’s the same. He hangs between the cupboard and the fridge where, day after . . . . Continue Reading »

Though the clear morning stood composed”cloud, dew, and leaf, the whole shimmering wood” now it all seems past belief. We know what happened. How a man came with his camera to take these stills of bough and branch. The old chimera of harder days had gone underground. But what brought . . . . Continue Reading »