Poetry
Spring 2008
Were This a Wish with a Plea
in it, or vice versa, or were this a ration, I’d press it, as one presses substances with the hands, fingers, or arms; as one is pressed in a crowd. […]
Poetry
Spring 2008
Hovering
In flight, their wings don’t whistle, but weave into the castle’s sleep: seven thousand vespertine birds. Seven thousand cages teased shut. On magical ground the couple leans inward. They have […]
Poetry
Spring 2008
Beginning and Ending with Birdcall
Which is it? Which is it? Which (rapidly) • • A tilting: inside edgeof your voice. Insistent brimming where it merges forest into marshland, stain into lake. Color, release— surround […]
Poetry
Winter 2005
Periphrasis with a Wing Beat
In light, in view of and due to their red heads, I walked inside our woodlot, watched. Shimmy of creased notes tailing the weeds. They dipped and swerved, then rose […]
Poetry
Winter 2005
Beginning with a Line from NPR
Birds are returning to the city, and not just pigeons. Last week, on the steps that flame the Met, we saw a couple: glossed purple epithets to the morning we’d […]