Don’t try it. If you try to sail by poetry, you are lost. You will wash up on shore 10 days after you drown, face down with a spavined copy of Keats’ poems in your back pocket, your heart a stone that does not burn, instead of gliding into a harbor with the late afternoon … More Shelley Sailed By Poetry
This world is a sepulchre, this world is our tomb, cradling the bones of whoever was, and whoever is, and perhaps whoever shall be; This world holds us all fast as it surely weaves through the shroud of stars, the cloak of the Milky Way – And even when we’ve good and ruined this Earth … More The Earth’s Little Golden Book of Lament
Cumulus alligator drowses in the lake of the summer sky – dreaming of wings to fly by
The scolding birds caught first my ear, then drew my eye into the tangle of midnight black pine tree silhouettes pressed hard against the late afternoon palette of deepening blue strewn with soft blooms of white, my glance caught then by the barred owl with his back against the black bark and his head … More The Bard Owl
Halfway North 