Ichthyology Pond: A Nocturne

It’s not mystical, the winter solstice. Think of pink fish, red fish, the sun, a pond, Part water and part reflection, beneath Fresh ice, so slowly sinking, not frozen, just cold, About to touch bottom and death, their thoughts— Of carnival barker and circus clown And Superman all rolled up tight—about To be extinguished, withContinue reading “Ichthyology Pond: A Nocturne”

Uncle Rhetorical

It’s raining. It’s pouring. And the old man Is out of bed. It’s 4:15 A.M. —Old, etiolated, left so un-majestic… (But not snoring, no.) * It is raining, though, rain that Thomas Merton[i] Once described as a festival, though he Was up late himself that night, in a dark Wood, a Coleman lantern to shedContinue reading “Uncle Rhetorical”