A Warbler At My Window
April again, bright morning and he’s back, flinging senseless against the pane his scruffy plumage, his shit and mucous and god knows what other bird-body fluids. . . He’s at …
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Some Other Just Ones
She who, having loved a book or record, instantly passes it on
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Dream of the Last Shaker
We stream into the meetinghouse through two doors like twin cords in the same braid. I love the men, all of them lined up like God’s long finger. The sun …
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To Darwin in Chile, 1835
You will learn to look on every city as Venice, stone lofted for a while as sun-draped statue before the tide grinds it to sand. Viewed through the telescopic glass …
Read MoreEach Mortal Thing
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same: Deals out that being indoors each one dwells; Selves—goes itself; myself it speaks and spells, Crying Whát I dó is me: …
Read MoreJe vous attends
Illustration by Sabine Kraus For Louise Bourgeois At first I made figures without any freedom at all. Then tiny windows started to appear. In a relation between two figures what, …
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Two Cowboys
He yanked the child along, six years old? dressed like him— ebony snakeskin boots scuttling through blaring cabs; black bolos fluttering; hats bobbing, black rolled brims. Were they running late …
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