Leaning Against the Mystery

The Stranger’s Song   -for Mahmoud Darwish I The dewdrop that dries up at noontime Glistens in your night of the rosema...

As numbers float down from you, tree in the sky, evade my arms, I could grapple with your roots for hours, like a caustic dea...

And we look up These birdsong-chattering stolen occupations This worldsong hysteria kissed These frequent observations’ muted...

I had no sense of being carried along through angled roads and under beautiful telephone poles When the people were asking what were they ...

Beauty surrounded us with disharmony, so that we could bear witness. We were old enough to know, yet young enough to admit. We were ...

Like a child counting hairs upon his father’s chin you forget that moment; the losing of the dirt-specked floor to the round bell of...

An impression of pleasing curved mother’s glasses' rim to weight soon indelectable, while impressions unfold from a moving eye, ...