—shored …
Carl Phillips
Other than that, all was still — a quiet …
was still a thing, then. To have timed your arrow …
What do we do with the body, do we …
The way the present cuts into history, …
How they woke, finally, in a bed of ferns — horsetail ferns. …
As through marble or the lining of …
The sea was one thing, once; the field another. Either way, …
Prologue …
There is a difference it used to make, …
If, when studying road atlases …
What’s meant to be wind emerges from what’s …
There are plenty who’d hardly …
There’s a kind of shadow, easily missed, that …
What injures the hive injures the bee, says Marcus Aurelius. I say …
Less the shadow …
No eye that sees could fail to remark you: …
Not less; only—different. Not …
Somewhere, people must still do things like fetch …
The last dog I owned, or — more humanely put, so …
Above me, the branches toss toward and away from each other …
By then, of course, they’d done plenty in the name …
Meanwhile the sea moves uneasily, like a man who …
As I took off …
The wind was high—it gave to your …
You with your crown …
There are places in this world where …
Not the bell, I said—one of us did; …
When he speaks of deserved and undeserved as more …
And now, …
They woke beside one another. I touched …
They planted flowers because the house had many rooms …
Like any spell for bringing everyone you’ve ever loved back, …
If I believed in a god, he would be a sea god, like the sea …
First snow—I release her into it— …
About what’s past, Hold on when you can, I used to say, …