Author Archives: xineann

A Dream of Trees, Mary Oliver

There is a thing in me that dreamed of trees, A quiet house, some green and modest acres A little way from every troubling town, A little way from factories, schools, laments. I would have time, I thought, and time … Continue reading

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He Lit a Fire with Icicles, Kay Ryan

He Lit a Fire with Icicles This was the work of St. Sebolt, one of his miracles: he lit a fire with icicles. He struck them like a steel to flint, did St. Sebolt. It makes sense only at a … Continue reading

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The Well of Grief, David H. Whyte

The Well of Grief Those who will not slip beneath the still surface on the well of grief, turning down through its black water to the place we cannot breathe, will never know the source from which we drink, the … Continue reading

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Sam Hammill, from Four Letters to Hayden Carruth

Pilate asks, “What is love?” For which I substituted friendship, which is love unburdened by erotic passion, but informed by love’s kindliness, if not by the inevitable necessities of dialectic argument. And so I begin again— “My dear friend,” I … Continue reading

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Darkness, Lord Byron

I had a dream, which was not all a dream. The bright sun was extinguish’d, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space, Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air … Continue reading

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The Lightest Touch, David H. Whyte

THE LIGHTEST TOUCH Good poetry begins with the lightest touch, a breeze arriving from nowhere, a whispered healing arrival, a word in your ear, a settling into things, then, like a hand in the dark, it arrests the whole body, … Continue reading

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Rain, Peter Everwine

Rain Toward evening, as the light failed and the pear tree at my window darkened, I put down my book and stood at the open door, the first raindrops gusting in the eaves, a smell of wet clay in the … Continue reading

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