My mother is a fish …
Peter Balakian
After the Reformation had settled the loamy soil …
Paolo …
8/1 …
All summer the patio drifted in and out of light the color of margarine; …
The tide’s a Bach cantata. …
1. …
You said anyone could walk in …
The day comes in strips of yellow glass over trees. …
In the rheumatic heat of July, …
I drove through the narrow Gods— …
When I left Eli Zabar the cut-out star on the window …
When I saw his face on a wall …
In the mud of a tire rut, …