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Sparrow Falling

From the January 1994 Print Edition

A shifting net of birds swelling over the pasture, turning, an amoeba, now dark and granular as dying, now an invisible, a thin fluid slicing light. Folding, the winged black knot splits. Plunges. My heart tumbles in the dark, and against the backlit sky I am a . . . . Continue Reading »

Careless Flying

From the April 1991 Print Edition

I I have been considering the ravens, who live without worrying and have no bins or barns And have no reaping machines. Yet they are fed well—their bodies sleek, gloved in black silk. With what a minor tempest They startle and settle, yet they are the poets of motion. Like folk songs their . . . . Continue Reading »