A midnight shimmer,the full moon’s shine lake-side brings the alderwoodvalley to false dawn. A fish—unclear whatfrom a distance—leapsfrom the water,a suffocating quarter second, trusting to (let’s say) a trout’sarcane faith in gravity’slogistical power,buoyancy be damned. Piercing the surface again,an intimation of (re)birth,as clouds wash over the moon,returning the valley to sleep. © 2023, 2024; first …
If on a winter’s night a traveller —Calvino She heard me say“Queen of Denial,”but I meant the other one.1I had tried like a Penzancian pirate2or enfogged, noir, Chandlerian3to insert myself asa credible suitorfor naught; my whisper,apparently, a mumble. Sine dubio,4 as Cicerowould have averred5yet erred,Los Corazones,6 mine and hers,should someday be entwined. Perhaps this wasan …
what is a butterfly?the thing itself,and all that it symbolizes,and its appearance in context:spring to summer to fall. dissected into its parts and pieces,fragmentations—the once beautifulbecomes nullified and obscene,the pastime of bullies and fools. a Sylphina Angel on a pinis good, at least, to studystructure, coloration, and form.but it loses all of the graceand much …
