Poetry
Summer 1988
The Window
Imagine the phases of the moon, nothing to full only speeded up, one second nothing there in the window, just the snow storm, the next a whole ball flattening on […]
Poetry
Summer 1988
Dividing Ridge
It takes all day but finally the last two things strike together, if not for the last time. A clear silence appears and deepens. In an intimate downhill fold of […]
Poetry
Spring 1987
Kneeling at Easter to the Season’s First Bloodroot
For Cia Eventually one spring enough ground was turned,a windstorm occurred at the right moment, the rest we piece together. Even if a humanhad been here he could not […]
Poetry
Spring 1987
The Relinquishments
After quarreling with everything in sight the heat hoversaround the edge of the pond and then subsides,an audible vapor over the surface.We enter a change of light, or is it […]
Poetry
Spring 1987
Winter Trees in the Middle Distance
Their strict barks floatingin the last light, beech, maple, locust,even a raft of birch, gray, flickering.The day’s great eye is open wideto the sunset. Inside the pupil I see the […]
Home Movies: Poems
Winter 1986
Profile
A Ford pickup, ca. 1932, NITROGLYCERINin professional white letters on the backof the cab, above the long window with rounded corners.Under the shed roof on the hilltopa man in his […]
Home Movies: Poems
Winter 1986
My Father Holding Things in His Arms
Pulls up under the porte cochere in a taxi,the back door opens, the Captain steps out, in uniform,Granny is the first to embrace him,my sister and I are standing in […]
Home Movies: Poems
Winter 1986
Mock Battles
Her fuzzy hat keeps bobbing up into the frame.He always had his eyes on something far away.Even on their honeymoon, the skylines,the harbor fort, the anonymous diversat the hotel pool. […]
Home Movies: Poems
Winter 1986
The Reel Marked Bobby Jones
Several hundred people milling about on the long porchof the clubhouse, then the first tee, the ball disappearinginto the sky. My mother appears, briefly,a long-sleeved black dress, mid-calf,and the hat: […]
Home Movies: Poems
Winter 1986
My Mother Holding Things in Her Arms
Thirty-two at the most, already she’s frightened, a second child in her arms, her full black hair pulled back, tight. In a white suit and two-toned wing tips my father walks her […]