Dead leaves are liquid; wring them / drown Wessex in brackish milk. / The cottage is still like a mosquito in amber / sheltering dinosaur blood. Yes he was / born here, Dorset let him never get / over it.
A Day at Thomas Hardy’s House Read More »
My feet hurt then / in a new way / but I felt it sharply from the ground up / in everything that dropped down / from the trees onto the dead.
Oh my God! Did we pass / through a space-time rift or cross an Einstein- / Rosen bridge? How long have we been stuck / here? Am I even the same person who arrived?
Filaments and Firmaments Read More »
I tried / to settle into space without being in the way. With my back to history / the poetry came in through my right ear. When I smiled I smiled / to the right.
