Contributed By: David Dasher
summer leaves have two faces:
toward the sun they swelter grim
as anyone can; in the wind-pushed rain
they jump & run &
their dull pallor brightens
the sudden light and the sudden dark.
also the black streets are silvered,
the thick yellow sun-cages dissolved
into gray distances.
my love and my joy,
which are also in the deep surfaces of things,
words are not thin
when what is written is written
on both sides.
Return to table of contents for Issue 1 Spring 2009
a loaf of bread + a loaf of bread
equaled your small body
a loaf of bread + a fire
equaled a bird in a wood stove
Twenty-eight years—most of them spent fumbling with the wrappers of candy bars—have passed before I became curious enough about the brain to find, on the shelves of a Baton Rouge library, a book by Dennett, 20 years old now, which mentions, in passing, a work by Bach, who labored for four years to create and […]
The train is running off track, the air oneiric and chill. We cut across the forest like thieves. All that derails is one thread of your scarf – I am dizzy with its unravelling. How linear it is. Almost absurd, this logic of movement. The train breaks; the trolley man falls back, burns his face […]
