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After the Ascension

From the June/July 2013 Print Edition

Ascension Thursday: gone again. My usual panic every year Sets in as the Easter season ends; I’d hoped to reconcile everything, To feel, just once, grace tremble near, In a resurrected, fiery ring. But dry distraction settles in, And with a crow’s beak pecks my breast With hungers and regrets. . . . . Continue Reading »

Et in Arcadia Ego

From the February 2010 Print Edition

The evergreens haunt the vineyard’s margin, encircling the bare Truck-and-backhoe mangled hill from whose dry crest I stare Across the lines of planted vines, in early spring; their dry And lightening bark like chicken feet clutching at the sky. The gravel spread about their husks reflects in . . . . Continue Reading »