We must endeavor to be our pastoral selves. I am looking into
the refrigerator. I am thinking of Mr. Rogers. Before bed I listen
to him being impossibly gentle through my headphones. I wake up
thinking of my friends and their great powers. Ministry of the absurd.
Ministry of sleep. Ministry of living very close to mortality, of
races on wheels close to the ground. I sleep, when …
As by Flare or Reflection
Glass brings consequences— the sea, a black sermon, the well-lit car rendering too much promise, the inside made contrary and strange. His mother cradles him but he fusses and won’t sleep, the …
Frost at Daybreak, April 15
“When we were in the woods beyond Gowbarrow park we saw a few daffodils close to the water side. We fancied
The Beginning of the End
Stitch up the trees, tripping over the end of time. Could it be jubilant to come apart? Earth to fire to air in a brilliant instant, nuclear alchemy splitting the bone. I try …
Annual trip to the village cemetery
Looking for your father’s grave, we walk around and read the names carved on crosses. You recognize neighbors, a cousin— Old Neculai dead? His son, too, at 50? Weeds tangled, fiery cosmos …
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