Advent
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Advent

I fainted this morning. For a few seconds, the world stopped spinning,as planets hurricane-whippedthrough winter air. Heaviness. Darkness.Memory skipped a beat, time two beats,life suddenly shown up, a scratched audio CD.I opened my eyes, cheek on cement. Today was the coldest yet.Each boot thrust through icesplintered the memory of hills. At work, I utter this…

Fireflies
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Fireflies

Out in the countrythe stars speak to you.Sometimes their silver tongues singshimmering in vast choirsin cathedrals of night.Beneath their singing,two boys run over dark earth,racing, tumbling, laughing through the dusk,fast as a rabbit’s heart beating,its blood dancing, pulsing through veins… My twin brother ahead of me,breathing out brightnesswithin warm night windas we drift through soft…

‘And what if he tells you to make poems?’
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‘And what if he tells you to make poems?’

“Though I have never been to Mount Olive, New Jersey,I have spent years of my reading life on the Mount of Olives,trespassing, looking for a brown-skinned teacher…” writes Brad Davis in his book’s title poem, inspired by a news report of a trespassing teen in Mount Olive, New Jersey. The poem summarizes well the quest…