In Memoriam I’m driving down the road, by my side a sack of camellia blossoms and a bee. The blossoms, their petals silky coins
Kayaking in the maritime forest, I lag behind the guide and see the white egret, shadow-blue heron, nutria’s black nose breaking the surface, an
Alfred Kazin’s Journals are streets and sun and fruit in market crates, and when he and other voices are not in my apartment, I