- Thursday
For E.B.
The finest day of the week,...
- The Machinery Of Remembrances
A wash of swallows against the dark gravel sea
ushers in the close of winter. Inside, the sighs
of waitresses hang themselves on the coat hooks
attached to the booths of the Shoreside Family Diner-Restaurant....
- The End Of Beauty
There are always fields, filled
with flowers, or something sweeping, like wind
tickling the hairs of your arm, that sinking feeling
...
- Sunday Afternoon
after Seurat
No one could have foreseen
the catastrophe-it rose from...
- Sonnet Of Death
From out the rumpled home of dreadful things
A clearing light emerges. Far beyond,
The hills lurch deep into the night. Bells ring
aloud. They drown the darkness with their sound,...