THE MOUNTAIN, YEAR 2 I'm going to the mountain today by the dirt road. I rest at each plateau and remind myself that what seems like nowhere is me talking to the mountain, rain on my...
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DIVERSION AT THE PIANO The early winter light is so bright I can’t see the page, as if I’m writing blind. I hear singing and write that, following sounds. The white fog clears with no sound; birds...
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THE WIND Anyone could have said go and then dumped the words behind the train station. All kinds of buzzings and clickings emerged from those grasses. I was walking out among the...
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The Old Poet There in the photo is the old poet, still of small stature. The now-white, feathery eyebrows hang like curtains framing the glinty goat blue. He's couched in sincerity, still...
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Dreams And then it was quite hot and the light late so that often we ate dinner around ten and sat until midnight on the porch while the winds blew warmth on our arms and the trees...
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