This is how we used to imagine the ocean floor: a steady snow of dead diatoms and forams drifting higher in the sunken plains, a soggy dust on the climbing underwater peaks
But such a weather would build a parched earth, a ball of salt
D...
Those twenty-six letters filling the blackboard Compose the dark, compose The illiterate summer sky & its stars as they appear One by one, above the schoolyard
If the soul had a written history, nothing would have happened:
A bird wo...
An old man in Concord forgets to go to morning service
He falls asleep, while reading Vergil, and dreams that he is Aeneas at the funeral of Pallas, an Italian prince
The sun is blue and scarlet on my page,
And yuck-a, yuck-a, yuck-...