- - Dancing at dawn I sit alone, like a pocketed wheel snail snugged in sandy dawn, the sun angling for salmon behind the barn’s thistl...

- - the bouquet I carried in our daughter's wedding, dried in l'atelier; with my stick woman I love a wedding, with its organza and...

- - I type this with one finger while James sleeps on my chest. We are at home in his apartment on his fifth day of life, with his mommy an...

- - There is an emotional intimacy that certain performers let us share that expands musical pleasure, into rapture. Lansing. Monday even...