Muddled figures glide where once you and I made a shape somewhat resembling an early morning swan on calm water Cold lake’s grey, crashing i...
There is no silence like the silence of people thoughtfully communing, pondering the sliver of brick wall through the window and snow on the...
This woman, unlike the other poets is known to me intimately like she is a hemorrhage of my own blood, further from a poet than I am from th...
My voice there echoes with less resonance than a single rosary said in Notre Dame As far as cathedrals remain, in my memory no more than a b...
