Sparrow’s Song

      Shall I be of the Sparrow or of the Blood Eagle? The curve of a rose’s thorn mimics these lungs drawn through to make two bright red wings for a small child, a hopping hellion, hung high … Continued

In the Garden

You cry at the Sun Door then rush into the light. Is it feathered there—is it lined with pliant mousy fats? Is this where smell and sight combine? Are the roses lions’ heads? Are the roses ornamental, or is their … Continued