Saturday, September 26, 2015


the night sky.  A narrative like all others and like no other and always abundant with questions.

Who sets the timer?

Who cooks the meal?

Who reads quietly?

Who turns the page?

Who is writing the first line of a poem?

1 comment:

  1. (Train... continued)

    At home the unsuspecting steward of the shop
    boils leather, never wishing for more than a window
    open wide toward the newly mangled air.
    A thrust of heat holds the old horse down
    on the meadow's sovereign shades of gold--