Time stutters and stalls. Here, the climate is not a season of pale lichens and emerald moss. They do not drop their leaves in fear of the coming frost; they wear their persistence like armor, a jagged skyline of...

If a body kiss a body, coming through the rye from the hollow where the heart should be—a hymn of skin and salt, a breath unmoored, a mouth tracing the curve of a shoulder like a ghost learning its...

Willow of Cayuga, silhouette against the bruised twilight skywith long elegant lines curving with a silent invitationa place to oft a weary head to chill the Willow of Cayuga to sweeten the earth tangled in dark reflection a dark...