and pushed its golden fingers
through the translucent leaves,
the dusty attic windows,
pillars and railings and a
sleeping girl's eyelashes,
birds shouted at each other and
drops of dew shone on the tips
of grass like glass globes on the
masts of a million tiny ships,
not gone, but shrunken and
no new worries had come;
sleep had wiped the blackboard clean
and the crows would not be denied,
everything began fresh,
and anthologies. After years of playing guitar in rock-and-roll bars in
boston and New York City, he currently resides in coastal maine. His
fifth book of poetry, Black Boat Black Water Black Sand, in which this
poem originally appeared, was recently published by moon pie press.
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