The pang and clangor of pitch-dense woodin the stove and the odd, almost syncopatedpops of studs, joists, and rafters as they warm […]
In the alluvium ofthe hot afternoon,where the day’s clarities […]
At the lower fence line under the starshe hears what at first he takesto be the neighbor’s mare cometo investigate his apple pocket […]
Ruin
was rumored
to be rooming
up the roadwhere
a neighbor’s barn’dburned down.
If it doesn’t rhyme, it’s not poetry? Quick, somebody tell Shakespeare.
Two VQR contributors are interviewed for “American Experience.”
I watcheda juncoclimb a spruceas if upona spiral stair […]
Like rivers, my thoughts flow south,for no particular reason.Must be the full moonThat floods the sky, and makes the night wakefuland full of remorse.
Nothing to hosanna,you will be buried
Cold. Only the livinggo on living.
His face coming briefly into view
As the crowd pushes
Toward the subway entrance.