I am in here.
We finished clearing the last Section of trail by noon, High on the ridge-side Two thousand feet above the creek Reached the pass, went on Beyond the white pine groves, Granite shoulders, to a small Green meadow watered by the snow, Edged with Aspen—sun Straight high and blazing But the air was cool. Ate a … Continue reading Above Pate Valley
Essential Oils — are wrung — The Attar from the Rose Be not expressed by Suns — alone — It is the gift of Screws — The General Rose — decay — But this — in Lady’s Drawer Make Summer — When the Lady lie In Spiceless Sepulchre — —Emily Dickinson
I imagine this midnight moment’s forest: Something else is alive Beside the clock’s loneliness And this blank page where my fingers move. Through the window I see no star: Something more near Though deeper within darkness Is entering the loneliness: Cold, delicately as the dark snow, A fox’s nose touches twig, leaf; Two eyes serve … Continue reading The Thought Fox
Detroit, 1942 He made a line on a blackboard, one bold stroke from right to left diagonally downward and stood back to ask, looking as always at no one in particular, “What have I done?” From the back of the room Freddie shouted, “You’ve broken a piece of chalk.” M. Degas did not smile. “What … Continue reading M. Degas Teaches Art & Science at Durfee Intermediate School
white pebble 