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Thumbing an Issue of Forbes

In the obits, ballplayers still finish first,their August exploits no one quite remembersrestored to life: the diving stop unrehearsedamid the routine plays of life’s surrender. But beneath our unnamed pastoral hero,I’ll find her, too, Ms. Forbes-Under-Thirtywho built a company up from zero,ran . . . . Continue Reading »

Via Negativa: Mourning Dove

Sightless in morning fog,she laces fallen fibers of fan palm, bunchgrass,the birch’s lost twigs, spins an empty creation.Conifer needles, the fox’s hair round out the void,what was cast off and left for dead now the dwelling,twined with stippled space of eggs to come, primevalpoint of departure, . . . . Continue Reading »

Requiem for Ethel

Your eyes sparkled. And there was playfulnessIn your smile that veiled your age,Softening the hard years with its warm caress. And oh, that accent—that Louisiana drawl—It dripped like summer-morning dewIn fields long in grass before harvest fall. You reached out when you spoke, with . . . . Continue Reading »

A Distant Purple

Mid-September, dear woman, and the monarchlights once more upon the purple panopliedbutterfly bush in the now-decaying garden,as it has for these past thirty Septembers. And once again, like the softest breeze, I feelyour gentle presence and lift my open handtoward it, toward you, hoping for a sign, . . . . Continue Reading »

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