Time to recount the sparrows of the air.
Seated alone on an elected stair,
I stare as they appear and disappear.
Tonight the deck supports tremendous quiet,
although the twilight is itself a riot.
I’m glad I’m staying here, not at the Hyatt.
My pen, eye, notes, watch, whiskey glass and hell
all hang together comfortably well.
Pain is my favorite resort hotel.
Philip is a poet and literary scholar, including Co-Editor-in-Chief at
FULCRUM: an annual of poetry and aesthetics. His latest collection of Pushkin translations, Star of Dazzling Ecstacy, can be found here.