The light had developed that changing
quality to
it that informed the alert it was fall. That meant,
mercifully, that the temperature was dropping,
albeit slowly.
Alison stood on the porch, looking
out into it. The
southern summer was the worst part of living here.
No.
It was the second worst part. The
worst part was
the neighbors and their parochial attitudes and their
going on and on and on about religion. (continue)
November
glare on Healey Pond
blinds us to monsters and grotesques
trailing us through brittle forest.
I dreamt that friends collected forty
dollars to clothe you in style
for the coming Sanskrit conference,
your reworking of declensions
in the Rig Veda impossible
to understand or to refute. (continue)
an
armful of dragons
and nowhere to put them
I pass counters
beds, balconies, and chairs
the dragons cling
to safety, nestle close
weeping fire on my t-shirt (continue)
