Where are the lovers, the priests, the souls of the cities?
Today is a long-run day.
Alone at a bar of piled stones and driftwood, a grey fisherman tends to his slack grey line. Offshore, a tug groans like a phone left uncradled; unaccomplished waves, unrelenting, slosh by. The man, wearing sneakers has no swivels or … Continue reading
I. You’d be hard pressed to find a man who’d say the name correctly on his first, or seventh, time; around her outskirts: ten odd minutes tops, then river bottoms, bluestem fields and hay; in barbed-wire folds she holds herself … Continue reading
The folks up here have granite in their souls and faces hewn from rocky seaside cliffs. I nod to them while crossing salt-washed shoals; their smiles skirt the surface like a skiff. Back home it’s true: all roots must run … Continue reading