Poetry
Autumn 1987
Reporting Back to J.B. on His Handiwork
Doubtless, J.B., you wonderedhow it would look to some later voyager on histemporary whirl: the books tell me I can guessit’s rural by the visible pegs that clinchthe neat embrace […]
Poetry
Autumn 1987
As Spring Approaches, I Think about Poetry
This curse you mutter on yourself,these daily imperfections that make youblame yourself when it’s the worldthat guarantees you won’t be perfect;the selfishness of words that wantwhat they want after all […]