Robert Dana Poems

My cat ate a wren this morning, one of a pair.
He seemed just to take it from the air.
Now her mate is cleaning out their nest,
...

Blessed is the beach, survivor of tides.

And blessed the litter of crown conchs and pen shells, the dead blue crab
in all its electric raiment.
...

Half-Irish, half-Italian.
A Gemini.

Two operas. One for each head.
...

Early evening.
The trees turning black and blacker.
The snow turning blue.
...