- - graveyard in Kinsale, Ireland The Prisoner I My hand has one gesture left: to push things away. From the rock dampness ...

- - Bamboo in Winter Wind blurs the bamboo branches into       spinning ribbons of two-toned sage. It is a singular being with root-sta...

I- - I have no idea why I am writing and posting so frequently these days. I hope it is not a hardship for you. But why should it be? You do...

- - Thanks for relishing with me the beautiful time at the lake with Inge, what we think of as our autumn writing retreat. Besides our lux...

- - Ode to a pear Venus rustic, buddha seated, bottomly knob, overturned not hardly — who’s to say your ripening, still on the s...

- - The Arrival On a smooth spring day     they alighted     like the wispy feet of a wren     hugging the twig of my upper lip — th...

- - We rode with 3,000 or so people in the Zoo-de-Mack from Boyne Highlands to Mackinaw City Saturday. Mackinaw City is where the Mackina...

- - . . . "for the roses Had the look of flowers that are looked at." T.S.Eliot 4 quartets p 14 Looking in my fluorescent ma...