What do you think?
Rate this book


Paperback
First published October 31, 2010
This spot of blonde grit that isn't a spot, the way the river isn't the same river with water sluicing through every moment, is part of it. But what I pick is the middle of the road where we sank to our knees to look at a broken shell, then lowered further till the sand shifted and filled the space between the back of our knees.
. . . and still the crows leave their night's haven in pine heavens gathered to by hundreds of gleaming bodies sheening black-feathered crows each evening arguing over where they spend the night raucous cawing diving soaring dashing from pine to pine . . .
Then add the light of fireflies.
I thought it too early - June,
and still chilly - but yes, a blink
over my head, between the trees,
another, another. It's almost
too much, these trembling sparks
dancing to the amphibian choir,
animating blackness, enlarging
my heart.