Author: admin

Stop romancing the moon, Inconstant goddess and Her inconsistent love. Worship not her pale face, It is fleeting, covered in darkness At her every whim and tide. Do not admire her lunar glow, A cold and distant light. It cannot...

Most unkingly king, to have held my life in your hands, Only to open your fist and let it slip into the wind Like sand blowing across a storm-battered beach. The stones of my walls have crumbled into desolation, There is no...

Books are no good in a box he wrote and of course they’re not. Not mine. Not his. Not the ones everyone quotes and swears by. Not the ones we steal from shelves or never return. Not the ones unread and donated to other rooms...

Ruptured hyacinth guts smeared on the picnic table like that which was a beautiful thing, a purple bloom that reminds me of alluvial garlic heads before the green breath of early summer slaps everything into near-death; like...

Somewhere in South Mississippi an 18-wheeler full of honeybees flips belly-up. Most of them never leave their metal queen, hovering and buzzing, a fuzzy gray cloud like a billion trillion electrons oscillating in elliptical...

For those who leave rooms in storm clouds while others sequester when life rolls like an avalanche on skates towards them and still others who snap colors to words like mittens on a coat, push trees in horizon’s smile and run...

The moon rubs the earth’s head with lunar pride shining, subtle and pure; she lays an ivory cheese color film across him like a blanket. She misses the visits by brilliant people and yellow machines; appreciates the tokens of...

A dozen sculptors have reclaimed a corner of an abandoned quarry— dragonflies and swallows fly over, while other creatures emerge from marble. Out of stone come a heron and an owl, a white whale, two ballet dancers, bas relief...

At Half Moon Pond in our tent late at night, we hear three barred owls call over and over, mythical owls of Athena. Next day at the sculpture studio, an artist carves an owl from pure white marble, if only the owls could know,...

There are no lights here, except stars so bright that the Milky Way touches water, as a half moon rises over its namesake pond, and stars fade into moonlight, on a September night as warm as July. If she could be here, poet Li...