Ross Cohen Biography

Grackle,
You’ve murdered brother crow
And stolen his totem spot
Atop our local mythology.
...

I could never compete with you
Lightfoot, skipping across the moss
and stone.
I crashed through tangled woods,
...

After the Thanksgiving
Meal, we pressed the cane.

The stripped stalks were cut;
...

The sea turns youth into an aged thing:
Wood worked by Protean hands, strong lines
Changed into faded and level grain.
White rings surround a browned
...

After the apple’s plucked from the tree, and upkicked clay dust settles,
Two lovers sit: somber, engaged with shame, drinking bodies on a higher level.

Running from calamity, fugitives from languor and bliss,
...