“e quindi uscimmo a riveder le stelle” —Dante Alighieri, 34th Canto, La Divina Commedia A tiny thing, a particle, a protein anointed in oil,
Between my finger and my thumb The squat pen rests. I’ll dig with it. —“Digging,” Seamus Heaney Back when I had
he’s not half-bull but in that way that every child consumes his mother from within— first in the natural way that thirst for blood
My sister went out to sea while I stayed at home with the dog—the animal warmth of him solids my hands; he smells of