It announces itself as a rustle in the bushes, as a tug of the hem, as a flash of light in the eye, as
First there was the statue, solemn there beyond the gravel shore where Ashley and I ate key lime pie pops. I remember that. I
So what of this empty street, new blank fridge, old pictures waiting to be hung? Here is the same before: bluejays, steeple clouds, darkening
It is both: the groove, the needle. Also the music spinning forth and, beneath the music, the hiss. It is the force that scatters