Poets

Every crashed marriage has its black box, the blow- by-blow account of what went wrong and how, the crescendo of mistakes that peaks, is for an instant

In Monet's The Beach at Trouville, it is week one of the Franco-Prussian war. The chair lodges in the sand between two women. One reads, the other

In memory of my father, and in welcome to my son In the wings there is one who waits to go on, and another, his scene run, who waits to go.