Finally, a small wind to move the curtains.
Hot in this upstairs room. Outside,
the dogs sleep on the cool concrete floor
of the garage.
And you, my love.
Why do I feel alone without you
Whom I have never known?
The history of a Western problem ‘God, but life is loneliness,’ declared the writer Sylvia Plath in her private journals. Despite all the grins and smiles we exchange, she says, … Continue reading
Out of sore feet, out of roadsides sooted with dusk, out of gravel, jeweled crumbs of shattered glass, out of the wide gesture of the hand toward heaven, out … Continue reading