Poetry

Poetry

Poem | C 54

To the dirt that no longer moves / you offer a mask the way a flower / over and over is readied for mornings
Poetry

The Roe Deer

“The shadows of the trees / and the frost-heaved stones / over long seasons / have shaped this grazing / question, with ears / that cup the hush.”
Article

Poem | ‘Messenger’

“It was anybody’s son at the door/   in the dripping green slicker/      with the unsigned contract for selling my soul”
Article

Two Poems

“After two weeks’ absence, the clover is high as a fence. / The weeds are white-tipped frills of grass”
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