It’s true my father came to find me standing nearly in tears in a cornfield one October when I was 9 or 10, fresh
It was evening, it was morning . . . Genesis 1:31 Yesterday, we gardened side by side—he, a circle pressed into the earth, me
The lost poems are riding lost trains north, carried on rails nailed to cross ties cut from disappeared chestnut forests—tracks torn-up long ago. They