“Truth is ever incoherent.” ~ Melville in a letter to Hawthorne, November 1851

Corey left today for Brooklyn. Unsure as to what his schedule will be, but he may be going to the Azores for the first trip . . . Will update later.

Littlefoot, 19

This is the bird hour, peony blossoms falling bigger than wren hearts
On the cutting border’s railroad ties,
Sparrows and other feathery things
Homing from one hedge to the next,
late May, gnat-floating evening.

Is love stronger than unlove?
Only the unloved know.
And the mockingbird, whose heart is cloned and colorless.

And who’s this tiny chirper,
lost in the loose leaves of the weeping cherry tree?
His song is not more than three feet off the ground, and singular,
And going nowhere.
Listen. It sounds a lot like you, hermane.
It sounds like me.

~ Charles Wright (to see poem with proper spacing, which I cannot do here, click here)

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