Sonnet
I thought of you whom once I thought I loved
poetry
Death
man's root withers as his plant climbs
Incident in a Country Churchyard
'Cast a cold eye on life, on death.
Feet
My roots are down in the asphalt
I. Shone? Declare!
...there's this, too, when priests die and snow
II. Introductory
Spinning down trumpet-mouthed dark corridors of mind,
The Messenger
Moving an inch a minute in the wet night
No Wings
You flutter hard
The Liberal
One Sunday at the integrated church
Dark Signature
I was a question
Pages
Current Issue: No. 301
