The train I am waiting for is ten minutes late after hitting a pedestrian. So December darkens. Each idling car generates a smokey boa
Only greed makes me want more than this: gold-leafed maples, soybean nuggets, and rich fields in my Midwest. Yet I crave New Mexican acreage,
I. Van Gogh’s “The Sower” We live knowing how Van Gogh’s incendiary sun stabs at a wheatfield in Arles, the vivid, ecstatic colors of