June 1, 2020

Southern Icarus

Windborne, lover of heights,
unspooled from the truck’s wildly lurching embrace,
you climb, skittish kite . . .

What do you know of the world’s despair,
gliding in vast solitariness there,
so that all that remains is to


Only a little longer the wind...

March 9, 2020

For George King

In the whispering night, when the stars bend low
till the hills ignite to a shining flame,
when a shower of meteors streaks the sky,
and the lilies sigh in their beds, for shame,
we must steal our souls, as they once were stolen,
and gather our vigor, an...

November 10, 2019

... Among the shadows of the groaning elms,           

amid the darkening oaks, we fled ourselves ...

... Once there were paths that led to coracles

that clung to piers like loosening barnacles ...

... where we cannot retur...

August 26, 2019

Helen, bright accompaniment,

accouterment of war as sure as all

the polished swords of princes groomed to lie

in mausoleums all eternity ...

The price of love is not so high

as never to have loved once in the dark

beyond foreseeing. Now, as dawn gleams pale

upon small wind-fa...

June 14, 2019


Have you tasted the bitterness of tears of despair?

Have you watched the sun sink through such pale, balmless air

that your soul sought its shell like a crab on a beach,

then scuttled inside to be safe, out of reach?

Might I lift you tonight from earth’s wreckage a...

December 1, 2018

Love has a Southern flavor: honeydew,

ripe cantaloupe, the honeysuckle’s spout

we tilt to basking faces to breathe out

the ordinary, and inhale perfume ...

Love’s Dixieland-rambunctious: tangled vines,

wild clematis, the gold-brocaded leaves

that will not keep their order in...

October 8, 2018

Here the hills are old and rolling
carefully in their old age;
on the horizon youthful mountains
bathe themselves in windblown fountains . . . 

By dying leaves and falling raindrops,
I have traced time's starts and stops,
and I have known the years to pass
almost unno...

July 23, 2018


There were moments full of promise,
like the petal-scented rainfall of early spring,
when to hold you in my arms and to kiss your willing lips
seemed everything.

There are moments strangely empty
full of pale unearthly twilight—how the cold stars stare!—

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