Spring Harvest

A poem. I have come here to harvest humusfrom the rotten bottom of the compostI left by the apple tree last fall. Raking away the shrouding cover of dry leaves reveals the dark heart of newborn earth. Leaning into the spade, I slice through the … Read More

If Only the Romans Had Played Basketball

Sunday afternoon in January,and the YMCA is full of boysdrumming brown basketballsagainst the shining floorand launching themin languorous arcsat red-rimmed hoops. The boys run, reach,and leap,throwing themselves skyward:they rise like egretsand land like yearlings,long limbs circling roundto snag spinning ballsfrom … Read More

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