Visitation
Even the spires of milkweed bend over in the low tumble of wind through the prairie, dry reeds tapping hollow …
Even the spires of milkweed bend over in the low tumble of wind through the prairie, dry reeds tapping hollow …
What I always wonder in a place like this is how many people have walked this ridge before, over how …
this morning I yearned to become that yellow leaf twirling down, catching an edge of the sun spinning past
no rhythm no long, yearning stanzas no swinging scythe evening hued grasses a hurried social hour a stratagem a standing …
Though in a world of doubt surrounded, our river plies, churns, hides its own error, misgiving, re-creation, courage of moment, …
How its surface hides the undulation on its bottom; how its edges spill over and are spilled over into. How …