The Anchorite’s Album
Here is a tree,an old green-shadowedpost oak trunking out at angleshe ponderedfor years.Here is the anchorite
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The Man I See
There’s a man that I see everyday,who indeed casts shadows upon the ground.He carefully chooses the
1947, THE YEAR I ENTERED THE WORLD
Mother, born in Upstate New York, sang Edith Piaf’s La Vie en Rose. Giacometti’s sculptures, like
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You Are Here
The scene: you, somewhere me, wishing you wellsmall relationshipssmall like clipped threadssmalllike unsent textssmall like forgettingI’ve
Late Night TV
I can’t escape it.The screen—glowing, cold—stares at me, mocking.They’re talking to me,I swear they are.That local