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From the May 2022 Print Edition

The snow this morning falls on brook and rushIn great flakes wending slantwise without purpose,The sky above a wakening tent of grey.So does my daughter wake, and say she’s sad.For, sorrow sometimes strikes us with its bolt,But mostly is a kind of atmosphere.It doesn’t enter us. We enter it,And . . . . Continue Reading »

An Accident

From the May 2020 Print Edition

The road flares burning where the truck swerved off     Just before midnight show the streaks in gravelAnd banged-up tailgate slanted in its trough.     Those passing—weary, wondering—slow their travelOn sight of massed police and long enough    . . . . Continue Reading »

Waking in Dresden

From the November 2019 Print Edition

After Richard Peter’s photograph of “Gute” Her shoulders slumped beneath their heavy cloak,Large hands outspread despite a shattered thumb,The lady Goodness stares out on the smokeAnd ruin below, and stands, as always, dumb.More planes already drone on the horizon,Their bellies pregnant with . . . . Continue Reading »


From the May 2019 Print Edition

October 20, 2007 Dear Lynn, I haven’t met you yet, and yet,  Because of your groom’s frank and free oblations  In sonnet sequences or while we drink,In permanent print or on the internet,  I write to share my cheerful approbations  For what I cannot know but may still . . . . Continue Reading »