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Cold Prose

From the June/July 2018 Print Edition

For this last half year I have been troubled by the disease (as I may call it) of translation; the cold prose fits of it . . . are always the most tedious with me . . .—John Dryden, “On Translation” Cold prose fits, wrote Dryden. Yes, but wheredoes it fit? Oasis in the desert:hot . . . . Continue Reading »

Vowels into Colors

From the April 2018 Print Edition

A mauve, E grey, I dark, U green, O . . . range.I do not see you, vowels, in color, soany paraphrase is clumsy, strange.But you bleed into one another.  Youadapt and melt.  I feel the textures change.Duffle coat, army blanket, green to brown:color’s a garment taken off, put on.A coded . . . . Continue Reading »

Home Improvements

From the April 2016 Print Edition

M ellow and glowing with autumnal redA nd also ochre striped with golden light,R epainted bedroom with a brand new bedL eft made up, crisp sheets awaiting night;O ld layers overlaid with something fresh,N ew, and sorting out, giving away,C lear for a different union of fleshA nd spirit, window to . . . . Continue Reading »

New City

From the March 2016 Print Edition

Winter strains toward spring.A bird is singing in a leafless tree.The river gleams, the sidewalks glint with iceor with a hint of possibility.A blade of sun bisects the afternoonstreet. In such a slippery spot I fell,righted myself, stood up,and found myself no longer in the winterbut in a city and . . . . Continue Reading »

Balancing

From the January 2015 Print Edition

To land in a story whose end I do not know— as if we ever saw to any end: I try to keep my balance, high and low. The sliver of this moon, discreet and new— Waxing? Waning? I forget. They blend in a sky whose limits we don’t know. . . . . Continue Reading »

Slow Green

From the Aug/Sept 2014 Print Edition

The elements were stark: a winter wall,snow, ice, snapped wrist. Through the breakI could just glimpse the color of the bone.But cold and white, the January crust,weren’t the whole story. Seasons turn,bones knit, a secret stirs beneath the snow. . . . . Continue Reading »