Alfred Nicol

for Herbert ClanceyLike the signature in maplewood of sun-splashed rain,this man’s bright pattern must remainbeside the workbench where he stood smoothing the grain.Deprived of work, he would not rest for . . . . Continue Reading »

The Skunk (Psalm 23) I am anointed too, brushed with his broad mark. He leads me safely through the alley in the dark. The Mockingbird (Psalm 98) Hub of the whirligig, he is my perch and poise. I pour from a high twig a round of joyful noise. The Sheep (Psalm 119) Tepid, woolly, I stray, leaving . . . . Continue Reading »