Outside now his ashes are blown by the wind through the eyes of ten needles
Let the aroma of need waft across the river to New Jersey: all the snow
It smells of forest and it smells of sea. Look how the vulture rises on
for Karen Bentivenga Sometimes in the heat of the snow you want to cry out
Though all our traces may be wiped clean just like candles at dawn and you
Little sentry guard, you fall once again through the fissure of night armed with nothing
The dogs that sniff out the lineage of ghosts, listen to them barking, listen to
In some eyes you see the indigo dregs left by twilights as they fade— a
Here are your keepsakes: this mild blight of violets falling uselessly on forgotten days and
Du trefonds de l’abime ramasser son couragesuivre patiemmentla route aridedu combat de tous les joursde
