The Cedars of Lebanon
March 26, 2018Across a shattered street, a Muslim groom lifts the train of his Christian bride as he steps over broken glass, old tires, and miles of rubblestone. Her face, a dark rose, is the only […]
Across a shattered street, a Muslim groom lifts the train of his Christian bride as he steps over broken glass, old tires, and miles of rubblestone. Her face, a dark rose, is the only […]
Out of a dream a fragrance overwhelms me: not saffron, not lavender but something in between:
I knew it was dawn With the sun blurring whitely Through the gray clouds, But I’m glad someone wrote that. The light and the words make a bridge Across the water to the sand.
You notice the smells first, more spring, or even summer, than late fall, the stale-clean scent of wet sunlit streets after last night’s heavy rain, the musk of soaked dead leaves, humid decay in […]
This morning I light red candles and set them on the sill, daring the breeze through an open window to tease the flames.
You notice the smells first, more spring, or even summer, than late fall, the stale-clean scent of wet sunlit streets after last night’s heavy rain, the musk of soaked dead leaves,
Soft summer wind lifts girls’ sheer dresses into wings, Pinks, reds, and golds winking and rippling through the air Like babies cooing far away. They pose round-faced and porcelain
A lined calendar of empty trees turns the cold consolable. Even light this dim is an invitation.
On the wood porch I awake to no sound, but a sense of some change: light falls across an arm and I pull back into darkness.
Near a rock slope of hill pasture, grass grows up through a few old bones. Again, what’s moved past recall is not past pain. White as the noon-day