Where the 4-lane carves into the county,
drivers see the boy and dog sprawled
on the rumpled quilt of field.
The dog pounces; the boy rolls, laughing.
Driver A
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Ferns
By Robert Bly
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Ferns
By Robert Bly
It was among ferns I learned about eternity. Below your belly there is a curly place, ferns that hide deer, and I have learned to love the curve that the […]
Black Tree Trunks
By Robert Bly
I stand at the window, as the snow falls. It swirls around, almost blocking out the trees. The bark facing the storm goes entirely white. What faces us looks darker […]
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