Installment 39 rings in that season of suspension, that restless waiting between winter high spirits and the still-distant return of life. *** My Back Pages One cricket trills somewhere within the bookshelf like the fan belt slipping on a ‘74 Maverick idling at the red light in the rain. *** Morning Fog Last night, driving alone, snug within my purring dome of darkness tinged with glass, green dials, and my own breath, I called out your name as I had done a thousand times before, but this time I startled at my voice, no passion, no desire, just syllables...Read More
Author: John Savoie
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