The Kite
You will never know how much I counted on the kite,
Charles Edward Eaton
Sunday Evening
In that great and overlooked Reformation Symphony, I hear
Nautch Girl
Dancing with the spirit of someone you love
Voyeur
He undressed beside sunlit pool,
Guided Tour
That friend who wished to see the Della Robbia urn,
A Fine Robe for a Nude
Three shades of blood to cast a single shade,
Act of Bronze
Burnished love, I whispered, reaching through the boughs,
On Finding that the Poem Belongs to Others
A Greek sky, this sense of columns standing alone --
The Draught of Shadow
There was a stone wall from which a snake ran out,
Pastoral
There is a longing in the life of country
Current Issue: No. 301
