THE WORDS There is sadness behind words, slow carts in line that carry your rubble, the tedium of a Sunday afternoon, fear of damage....

REMEMBERING THE TRAFFIC LIGHTS OF THAT ENDLESS NIGHT: WAITING AT YELLOW, STOPPING AT RED, GOING ON GREEN the night has never belonged to...

LEAVES   Dry leaves: love letters the trees  would like to forget.   And yet! they keep sprouting,  and greener every time.   Mountain...

THE MARIONETTES   We love our slender puppets so much —Their white faces are all alone Atop the bodies, pious in their fragility— And we...

I took her to the station. I even carried her bags: I’m helping her to get away from me, I thought. She’s leaving, she’s leaving right...

The bakery didn’t look like much from the outside, on the contrary: the decor was of a disconcerting, even depressing poverty. On the...