Dialogue 3.2 (Summer 1968)98 THE BOOK OF BREATHINGS (FRAGMENT I, THE “SENSEN” TEXT, WITH RESTORATIONS FROM LOUVRE PAPYRUS 3284) translated by Richard A. Parker
In farewell, my lips touch yours. Tongue jabs tongue, you’re in my arms. We stand bound: God’s will closed to our vote, but, accepting, we mime Kekule’s benzene snakes.
Let’s see. This morning—since you’ve been gone— I’ve taken a walk on the beach, naming And naming and naming, until I can name no more. Comber, anemone, crab. Will these do? I talk to […]
A boy with joy and fear inside stood on the plank above the pond. He sensed the cold, dark water underneath, and, daring,
[…] a Sacrament Meeting which led me as a teenager to engage in critical self-examination and to leave the meeting with high resolve. Despite the nervousness and excitement I felt in getting married, I still […]
Corn grows in my father’s backyard garden in ten green files, each row a week taller, the tallest now past two months, nearly ripe. The years he’s planted gardens range beyond the year that […]
Adlai Stevenson died in Palermo. In the airport. His face was pasted On the newsstand, bobbing in and out among Jabbering Sicilians, their sweaty hands Sticky with orange soda pop,
We laughed in the temple and found favor where the Lord lashed with lightening and laughed too when he saw the size of salvation.
The fault line shifts, subterranean conflict rises. Granite knitted together in heat and compaction,
The sun is four hours high. The air is starting to stir from the south, heavy and dry with sun.