Poetry
Summer 1989
A Language
For Michael Ondaatje There’s a story of a young woman walking by mistake out onto an unfinished bridge, being blown off, falling, being caught by a welder, his arm wrenched […]
Poetry
Winter 1991
Sky
The air is way lovelier than it has a right to be. Everything in a spin of bloom, everything high and handsome. Exactly because it’s so unlikely, there’s sadness smack […]
Poetry
Winter 1991
Text
Chekhov said that love’s “either a remnantof something which has been immense, or a particle of something immensein the future.” Now, no big thing. I think it’s the dark centerof […]