Thanksgiving, dark of the moon. …
Charles Wright
The generator hums like a distant ding an sich. …
Dove-twirl in the tall grass. …
Clear night, thumb-top of a moon, a back-lit sky. …
There is a heaviness between us, …
Midmorning like a deserted room, apparition …
Already one day has detached itself from all the rest up ahead. …
Three years ago, in the afternoons, …
The spider, juiced crystal and Milky Way, drifts on his web through the night sky …
Ancient of Days, old friend, no one believes you’ll come back. …
Sunday, September Sunday ... Outdoors, …