Prose, Poetry, and Art since 1956
Across the Street Tree roots buckled the drivewayuntil weeds grew knee-highthrough the twisting cracks.Haggard men always seemed to belighting cigarettes with pale cupped hands.Even in winter they wore only T-shirts,each with a pack of Viceroysrolled…
Ephemerals Climbing the Cataract Falls TrailWe don’t notice the drop-offs much,The abyss. Only the flowers, tiny and paleWith big leaves, and ferns, workingBackward from the reservoir up cataract to cataract,Chasing time backwardsThe closer we get…
I. In the dust and the dirtof the orchard floor, there wasa beautiful red beetle — and it did not move. Amid a little world’s scatterand frenzy, here was something — a…