The Sign
—to Seamus Heaney
It might’ve been a joke, but spoke to melike a blackbird’s cry, giddyand defiant, not knowing this placebut feeling in place,...
Winter Solstice
We drive in the darkpast the open fieldsinto the neighborhood:Millions of lights on the housesin the trees—the world a-twinkle with hopewhile overhead a...
Street Scene
Early evening heat rises frompavements, from cement and asphalt,carrying a scent slightly sour,slightly acrid—oily and tar-like.
Outside the café, beyond its fenced-intables, a large...
