– Gus am bris an là Out from this croft house opens the comfort of black mountains and black sea, black wind flattening black grass, black granite and black names, names with sharp shape and names become smooth black rain, black wind, black sheep white snowflake specks high on the dead bracken hill today—Sheep don’t… [Read More]
Jonathan Johnson
Cascades
One day every memory of whatever night this is will be gone. I row out from my fire and my fire fades back into spruce. Silhouettes of high boughs sink into the ridgeline’s rising silhouette. Jupiter’s reflection keeps smooth pace in water beside me. Moonrise descends into this narrow valley. Cascades fall from my oars… [Read More]