THE MUSEYou owe me. Pay up. According to my accounts, you have...
CASUAL FRIENDSend lies to the people listed below....
THE AWARDS COMMITTEEThis is to notify you that--but what's the use?...
THE WISEThe world could fall to pieces with no notice....
UNCLE ALA chicken is a touchy creature....
THE OTHERSHere where we live the lines are down and the surprises build into snowbanks...
DANNYDusty Clinton Township kids making paper roosters and snowball...
SAMUEL RENSBERGER I am your grandfather's grandfather and through my wakeless sleep I dream...
OLD NEIGHBOREast across low muddy fields and behind the screening trees you can see...
THE WORM COUNCILWe call your attention to worms. Though sweeping ice age disaster...
THE HERONI flew in down by the round deep pond behind your house...
WITNESSI saw the largest moon ever rise huge bright yellow, sailing where it cared to...
FALLING
A fine grace of falling is in the leaves
gone beyond hanging and more pulled to earth
in their dry bat-lightness than in any
fullness of green. To the roots, the worm-graced
soil, they flush and scatter the year's holdings.
The wind calls to the living, waking us
before dawn. Cold inner lights spark our eyes.
We hold nothing in our hands, we open
to nothing inside: our fine gravity
of loss, our center, our place of falling.