Category: Writing

My own serious stuff; the craft itself; those who inspire me in it; the art of reading.

Poker Face

WE WERE FIVE MEN PLAYING draw poker. “Ante up, gentlemen,” said R. “Nickel apiece.” The cards went round once, twice, thrice. B coughed. T took a sip of his Cuba Libre. R sent the cards round again. And again.

Seeing Her

ALL I REMEMBER NOW ARE images, and the intimate passion of an infinite love. I remember the room of globes, of maps of worlds and wonders, soft with pillows and draped scarves. And She was there. And She knew me.…

Days Like Doors

THERE ARE DAYS WHICH OPEN into unglimpsed circles that inspire and uplift. And there are days which close the heart like a fist. There are days when the angels sing within range of human ear And days when all you…