Nature's plethora in Renaissance the sequoia in silhouette of the nightingale's trembling throatwhen the wind moves like a sculptorthrough the cathedral of pines—O, what green alchemyin the turning leaf, what gold distilled from the slow decay of empires—And the...

Insomnia, thou punctual ghast,clicking thy bones in time so fast—how dost thou pace my hollow halls,counting each drop, the midnight calls?A Folgers' Pentecostal hymn,a blackened brew—so thick, so grim—each splash a psalm, each steam a sigh,a bitter Host, I...