A Public Sphere for Poetry, Politics, and Nature
The maple leaves are always green up here, and the waters of the Sound always blue. I have been thinking of you all day, at least since breezes pushed the … Continue reading →
1917-18-19, While things were going on in Europe, Our most used term of scorn or abuse Was “bushwa.” We employed it correctly, But we thought it was French for “bullshit.” … Continue reading →
If only we could touch the things of this world at their center, if we could only hear tiny leaves of birch struggling toward April, then we would know. — … Continue reading →
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