The dreams of the old men are winter snow, and the moon a fisherman casting down an invisible line, the signatures of light a first breath. Sorrow, it seems, is older than the birds flitting from limb to limb. Sometimes the blown pupil of the sky becomes a vision, or the men awake to count … Continue reading Winter Breaths
by Doug Ramspeck
She insists it is always summer on the white road, always morning, and the fish bones by the river are picked clean. He watches how her face is a shelter of small rooms. And if his hands become ghostly weeds beside the road, she says that there are elegies in the salt of the skin, … Continue reading He Said / She Said
by Doug Ramspeck
The boys, in a dream, are beating a green snake with a stick, slipping the limp rope into the river. Then later they watch their sisters kissing boyfriends on the back porch. This must be crow weather. The boys know it is a kind of madness. And that night they watch the posthumous moon on … Continue reading Sacred Ruins
by Doug Ramspeck
