Crucifixion
I do not think the earth quaked out of sympathy;
poetry
The Race of Death
I looked upon the face of death.
Indian River Dam
I knew a river like a swift young savage
The Mouse in Brant's Tomb (The Chapel of the Mohawks, Brantford)
A sleekit field mouse, shadow-grey,
Goodbye, Forsyth: (To a Boy Leaving School)
And so you say you're leavingthen, Forsyth.
And They Call This Living
The sea that morning was as unruffled
Saints in the Desert
O saints in the desert,
Poor Bread
How can she know that this man whose hand
To Live Continually at War
To live continually at war,
The Oyster
The Oyster knows the origin of pain.
Pages
Current Issue: No. 301
