Poetry
Summer 1968
The Summer
Warm, rich lowlands, the marigold, and light casting light in the meadow. With silver calmness the birch shakes a little wind and the sky sways. Comes the wasp, comes, sniffs, […]
Poetry
Summer 1968
Mother
Holding the dish in her two hands, she walked toward Sunday evening. She smiled so quietly and sat for a while in the dusk. The tiny dish she brought home […]