Monthly Archives: April 2017

Crows in a Strong Wind Off go the crows from the roof. The crows can’t hold on. They might as well Be perched on an oil slick. Such an awkward dance, These gentlemen In their spottled-black coats. Such a tipsy … Continue reading →

Imported Days some days, like birthdays, are imported from france, honolulu and bangkok. you stretch them out by minutes and enjoy every piece while buildings bury themselves in the ground. you row in and out of a mailman, a cosmic … Continue reading →

Tilly He travels after a winter sun, Urging the cattle along a cold red road, Calling to them, a voice they know, He drives his beasts above Cabra. The voice tells them home is warm. They moo and make brute … Continue reading →

August, 1968 The Ogre does what ogres can, Deeds quite impossible for Man, But one prize is beyond his reach, The Ogre cannot master Speech: About a subjugated plain, Among its desperate and slain, The Ogre stalks with hands on … Continue reading →

A Day I’ll tell you how the sun rose, – A ribbon at a time. The steeples swam in amethyst, The news like squirrels ran. The hills untied their bonnets, The bobolinks begun. Then I said softly to myself, “That … Continue reading →

Classic Ballroom Dances Grandmothers who wring the necks Of chickens; old nuns With names like Theresa, Marianne, Who pull schoolboys by the ear; The intricate steps of pickpockets Working the crowd of the curious At the scene of an accident; … Continue reading →

The Forecast for Night Showers, though their rhythms may be Interrupted by wind and gusts Will not cease in the dark hours They should continue until first light. Going to sleep one imagines a dance With interruptions, a shouldering A … Continue reading →

Full Moon She was wearing the coral taffeta trousers Someone had brought her from Ispahan, And the little gold coat with pomegranate blossoms, And the coral-hafted feather fan; But she ran down a Kentish lane in the moonlight, And skipped … Continue reading →

 Days Each one is a gift, no doubt, mysteriously placed in your waking hand or set upon your forehead moments before you open your eyes. Today begins cold and bright, the ground heavy with snow and the thick masonry of … Continue reading →

Spring To what purpose, April, do you return again? Beauty is not enough. You can no longer quiet me with the redness Of little leaves opening stickily. I know what I know. The sun is hot on my neck as … Continue reading →