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Tag Archives: Catherine Owen
Today the river is thick with wind – a lifting, a clustering, a leaping up – the next day taut & holding everything – Solstice & a new cold blues the sky – missing him I have little doubt this … Continue reading
They will disappear these ruins & this beauty too & this indistinguishable – I just wanted a raw place to wander in and for them also, a random spot – you can’t find anything in townhouses & skyscrapers – O … Continue reading
And now a swan by the shipyards, an otter, darkness slitting the surface, a white form skimming the rubber hulls – at dusk, everything is blue, gold, buildings on fire at the horizon & the water a closer sky – … Continue reading
The inexorable, the river, and the sounds I hear & can no longer hear – machines, birdsong – if only they could spare that tree, or that one – or do they not want nests, any sweet capitulations – and … Continue reading
Suddenly, it’s mid-December – the river clenches itself, fish bundle up in the mud – your grandfather is dead, his forgetting flown into the ether, such relinquishment your sorrow or nostalgia or both and you speak of leaves, burning – … Continue reading
Sundays, in the frozen construction site by the river, crows, on the gears, trailers, the still-raw mansard roofs, in the mud-ruts & on the jimmied-together fence – everything that honked & chugged now caws – is not static in pursuit, … Continue reading