William Graham Biography

In the misty mornings,
When the birds’ sweet calls ring,
I am filled with primordial dread
That the past is never dead.
...

In my twelfth year, my declaration of independence
Came as I sunk into a worn red leather chair
Under the spinning fan in a public library
On a blistering Midwest summer day.
...

Arctic moon—you rise like a cold memory
From the bleak black boiling sea.

Arctic moon—your yellow light dances
...

She had a maple forest smell.
She was a celebrant of light.
In her polished eyes did dwell
An appetite for delight.
...

He soared like a hawk over Central Park.
He glided gracefully into his Hamptons home.
At a whim he would on a weekend embark
To beach in the south of France, where he roamed
...