#AmericanWriters
Why is it I want to cry? Crow, crow, tell me. There is a shadow passing by. The willows call me. Why would an old woman weep?
The wood thrush, it is! Now I kno… who sings that clear arpeggio, three far notes weaving into the evening among leaves
Watch where the branches of the wi… See where the waters of the rivers… Graves in the rock, cradles in the… Every land is the holy land Here was the battle to the bitter…
Time says “Let there be” every moment and instantly there is space and the radiance of each bright galaxy. And eyes beholding radiance.
I wrote a poem called The Local… the poem got lost long ago so did the crow still sometimes the black wings come across my min…
Somewhere I read that when they finally staggered o… into some strange town, past drunk… hoarse, half naked, blear-eyed, blood dried under broken nails
