Evidence of the Journey
Ralph Sneeden

After the search for the depression gene ended
in disappointment, after the failures of lens
and bench I went to the world, watching first
above tall grasses the white rumps of deer
floundering like the sails of small boats in trouble
just before they vanished into spruces
which ate them like a storm; listening first
to ( Read more... )

Building the Rock Wall
Rick Bass

The heart of the builder
the wild talent, the so-called genius of the artist
is largely overrated.

He has been building walls for 60 years now.
Two things are important.

Endurance
(Strength is useful but overrated;
leverage can accomplish as least as much as
the imprecision of brute force),

and material,
the second thing,
even ( Read more... )

The Meadow
Marie Howe

As we walk into words that have waited for us to enter them, so
the meadow, muddy with dreams, is gathering itself together

and trying, with difficulty, to remember how to make wildflowers.
Imperceptibly heaving with the old impatience, it knows

for certain that two horses walk upon it, weary of hay.
The horses, sway-backed and self- ( Read more... )

Pluto's Loss
Paul Guest


( Read more... )

For Julia, in the Deep Water
John N. Morris

The instructor we hire
because she does not love you
Leads you into the deep water,
The deep end
Where the water is darker-
Her open, encouraging arms
That never get nearer
Are merciless for your sake.

You will dream this water always
Where nothing draws nearer,
Wasting your valuable breath
You will scream ( Read more... )

Learning to Swim
Bob Hicok

At forty-eight, to be given water,
which is most of the world, given life
in water, which is most of me, given ease,

which is most of what I lack, here, where walls
don’t part to my hands, is to be born
as of three weeks ago. Taking nothing

from you, mother, or you, sky, or you,
mountain, that you wouldn’t take
if offered ( Read more... )

Strange Litany ( Read more... )

To Myself ( Read more... )

Nick and the Candlestick
Sylvia Plath

I am a miner. The light burns blue.
Waxy stalactites
Drip and thicken, tears

The earthen womb
Exudes from its dead boredom.
Black bat airs

Wrap me, raggy shawls,
Cold homicides.
They weld to me like plums.

Old cave of calcium
Icicles, old echoer.
Even the newts are white,

Those holy Joes.
And the fish, the ( Read more... )

Epithalamion ( Read more... )