Articles/Essays – Volume 48, No. 4


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A horse-drawn carriage

passes by in another


age—leaves of ash


and birch pressed

into the pages of a book


your grandmother will


never read again

as she pumps the pedals


of a player piano—


“Come Come Ye Saints”

drifting out the windows


of an Arts and Crafts


bungalow—tea roses

in the garden drooping


over the day’s abyss—