Even the cedars along the highway are diseased, each tree split down the middle half brown, branches bare and dry as finger bones, the other half still green as ever as if Death were interrupted halfway through, her work calling her somewhere more urgent. Perhaps the diseased branches of someone’s lungs were filling, filling and […]
Poetry 102
Alan Basting: A World Announces Affection in December’s Snow and Fog
Locomotives In the guise of oxen Enter the village with humility, Heads down, sweaty From chugging up the street, Hauling the resurrection Bells to the chapel. Lowing, gospel sounds Drift like incense Among the faithful Wrapped In frost-crusted robes. * Mistaking song For sorrow and longing For notes of […]