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From the November 1993 Print Edition

Shuffling through your city of perpetual night, you have come to this Advent eucharist with the help of a seeing-eye dog. You clutch tight the pew back curl of wood expecting neither miracle nor accident to set the sight on fire. I watch you stare as from a cliff ledge, groping for the cinnamon coat . . . . Continue Reading »

Black Spruce

From the May 1993 Print Edition

From a distance  it looked like ordinary  wood, a snuff-colored twig one might rake for burning. Surfaced  by the bulldozer from a sarcophagus of clay, it  could have been the brittle  finger-bone of a prophet, or a phalange of an extinct ape  from another age. Black . . . . Continue Reading »


From the March 1993 Print Edition

Seven meters an hour, top speed, pulling closer the edge of asphalt you cannot see. Mizzling rain glistens your body stripped to the skin. You row, row for your life in air thick with whirlpools of danger. I cannot look at you without suffering your fragility. There reels from the morning sky a . . . . Continue Reading »