No angel with uplifted hand, no symbolof the Holy Spirit, gliding down ongilded beams—and for all we know the woman is no virgin. Still, any woman readingis an annunciation. Vermeer knew this:reading is parthenogenetic, magic doubling of the self fertilized by words.His girl reading stands in . . . . Continue Reading »
“I used to believe that there was a green stick,buried on the edge of a ravine . . . on whichwords were carved that would destroy all theevil in the hearts of men and bring themeverything good.”—Leo Tolstoy When he was old, pate bald, skin sere.Back humbled as the turtle’sFor all his . . . . Continue Reading »
Like the imprintof my two thumbs in clay,so you appear, my Lord,by what you leave behind.Disguisedin the tracery of fingerprint,the whorls a worldof delicate, true lines,you are revealed.You mark me deeper still,that imprint, too, indelible.You sayyou’d know me anywhereby that . . . . Continue Reading »
In the din of agesso quiet only the squeakof charcoal sneakersand the stentorian tutelageof living massesobtrude—goddesswith a breast exposed,Mary drawing bloodfrom fingers brushing thorns—overhead the tapestryof knights and days—in glass enclosed, breastplates,armor . . . . . . . Continue Reading »
From the stack outside the window’s frame,White smoke, mostly steam, breaks hard acrossA bright blue square of winter sky.It tumbles in gusts, and its knots untieThen vanish in air. They are strangely calming, these forms aboveThe skeletal trees, the drifted roofs,Above the houses where livesGo . . . . Continue Reading »
First snow falls in kindagreement to timeless ways.Gratia plena. Our Lady of Careis a kindly countenancesad as autumn frost. Faithful tears reclaimgardens brought to graceless ruinby wishing wells of sin.—Frederick S. . . . . Continue Reading »
How good and fine it would have been, to be out upon the wild loon swellsAnd watch the sea-eagles coming in;Or to climb, body lashed by salt sea spray, upThrough the face-lashing spray of pine,To view through a rift the goshawk’s nest, and, hunched over allThose downy forms, that fierce red eye;Or . . . . Continue Reading »
I fish this bay all morning.High clouds cap me, a light breeze tickles the water's skin.Fall's green-brown leaves shade the shore. By noon, no fish. I lean over the gunwale staring into the water.I cannot see past my own reflection, rippled by . . . . Continue Reading »
Tugged out of bed by a dream,he enters the world, confrontscats stalking the hallway,aghast at this early walker.The moon, almost full, glowson the crust of old snow. Back in the bedroom, his wifedreams in a world that is histo return to. Perhaps.But for now he’s hereby the window, . . . . Continue Reading »
The alarm sinks its teethinto my ear. I drag outof our warm bed. Anotherwinter day breaksin fragments of nightmare.The sun hasn’t shown,afraid to face this growling windand the thousands of drearycommuters going nowhere beyondthe dollar sign and grave marker. I punch on the light and youroll back . . . . Continue Reading »
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