He was making good time on the margin of night. He was traveling fast on trips down the road. The road was straight. No voices came across the wire. The …

Smell is the one. You can grasp the salt- stung sea edge. Find the beloved’s hair across any room. Rub five-petalled yellow cinquefoil under the nose in Arctic sun. Now …

There is no time. We exist in a white bowl stung with light. The day comes to us every minute. Tonight we will walk to the pond to skate. There …

Walk around town singing. Is Wassail a cup? The days are cold as buried iron but watch the light advance by minutes every day. For six months sun will be …

Locked inside your cheek are hot needles. The horizon turns upside down. Where do your feet go, putting the ground to sleep? The world disappears. Singing starts, but it is …

Here we are at the edge of the river. Eagles high in the trees watch for fish. On one side is the world. On one side is the bright rift …

Here is the concerto in D-minor. He needs to unlock the very world. Harmonics explode in each spin. The sparks always find him. Each staff is an uncovering. Tracking first …

Plot does not work for me. Beginning, middle, or end. Fit them together like toes on a foot. Mouths open to speak. Information can help. You can ask, but questions …

Put away the tin soldiers. Line up your schoolbooks. Here comes the world. I know clouds, the leaf-strewn air. The crows are gathering. Mail arrives on horseback. Light will end …