Fenwick Island I wish you were here,for you would understandhow the confident starscan move this nightto companionable pity,unwholesome as it is,how the imperishable seamasquerades its...

Self-Portrait after Adam Zagajewski Between dead heading the liliespicking blueberriesand arranging the fruit plate,half my July morning passes.My village is not strange to me.I have not...

Ode to the Analog Age Praise the newspaper tossed each morning by a boy on a bicycle, ink of newsprint, thinness of paper. Praise phone booths...