Words for a Lullaby
Because it is late on a Sunday night
poetry
Black Kettles
A leashed collie tugs like a kite.
Home
Mother wants to go home. She tells me this
Weather
Ruth always asks the same question:
This morning on the phone
my mother tells me
Blue Willow
in Autumn the sea comes into the house
The Conductor
She's gone and played it again, Sam - said the wrong thing, said it too sharp,
Tantramar
It was scandel when the milkman discovered the bronze soldier at the cenotaph
In Hamburg Harbour (tr. by Eric Miller)
Boats embody the victors
It's coming again now, scratchy-footed night (tr. by Eric Miller)
Brim with streetwisdom it teems, underage whore,
Pages
Current Issue: No. 301
