How strange it is to see a face, one I’d already cast off, one that I presumed I’d never see again.

But with the opening of a door, there it is.  His face had already become a sort of monument, a boulder found at the base of a mountain, one where the Devil judges men.

Just before that adventure, I’d written a song:  a motif that has since grown ( Read more... )

Every evening I walk up the hill; I take the steep sidewalk leading alongside a high, crumbling wall. 
I listen to the classical station, strings here, static crescendo.
Lines of cars move past, as silent and unreal as ghosts.
I watch my shoes one after the other, and look up at the bare branches that reach out over the flaking wall.
I should know what ( Read more... )

I am a stone that has been thrown by something
    into a running river:
       splash-crack as I settle into a place
            into which only I can settle.
And the water washes, washes over me.
     Through January, June;
         August, October.

Let it all wash over me.

[Even a stone dropped into a pool
     does not wonder why ripples return ( Read more... )