“The Bright Obvious Stands Motionless”; Tap; On Visiting Writers’ Graves

“The Bright Obvious Stands Motionless”[1]   1   I’d go to sea again. Wet wind, the flex of rigging, how the knees bend rhythmically up and down the swell.   Horizon.   Attached to what I join and hold apart I find myself in all my ages, not the person in the photographs nor the […]