WAITING ROOM the clock has no hands so you can sit with your back to time the grass between the rails repudiates all timetables as it is it’s possible the cloud will pass in the evening                         but it’s wise to keep hope muted if you’ve grown used to its caprices   even if it appears the bell will probably hold its tongue between its teeth convinced there’s no place for its voice in the score of silence and it’s absurd to listen for announcements when you’re t

to the doctor due to Aeschylus, hemorrhage of poesie &c.   “do you know the land, where the lemon-trees bloom, in the darkling leaves,...

From The Ink’s Path   1.4 and now it is no longer possible to patch up the day everything that promised a better life only distracted and...

THE ARRIVAL   By surprise, I will happen upon an azure morning in May: after the long journey, I will be where you are, unexpected.   My...

THE WORDS There is sadness behind words, slow carts in line that carry your rubble, the tedium of a Sunday afternoon, fear of damage....

REMEMBERING THE TRAFFIC LIGHTS OF THAT ENDLESS NIGHT: WAITING AT YELLOW, STOPPING AT RED, GOING ON GREEN the night has never belonged to...

LEAVES   Dry leaves: love letters the trees  would like to forget.   And yet! they keep sprouting,  and greener every time.   Mountain...

THE MARIONETTES   We love our slender puppets so much —Their white faces are all alone Atop the bodies, pious in their fragility— And we...