—Denise Levertov Evenings, I sit alone and watch my garden crowd and tangle. Plums form, green and small, hard enough to break a window.
1 It’s hard to believe in May, sky the gunmetal gray that murders more than sleep. Clouds won’t leave the sun alone. Nor will
He had bad teeth and liked to eat candy, especially cinnamon red-hots. The way they disappeared, but left you with a devil’s tongue for