So immaculate and still are the forever rebounding grain that is thrown from the heavens’ sleeve They closet a bent road that slides under a transparent silver sheet A hermit wind that has traveled across mountain precipices, and caverns within hillsides Has found its superlative The glass sailcloth began to open its three-cornered mouth And invited the aching hermit in The tall kerosene lamp figure’s flame trickled and smoothed in response to the intruding wind The bright bu

*An Imitation of Cannery Row by John Steinbeck* Over the sea, up mountains, and within this small, poor town lived the Chinaman’s father. He sat on his hill listening to the four winds against the grass, birds’ wings flapping, animals singing their mating calls, and the innocent screams of his small child. The Chinaman’s father would never leave his lonesome post except for his community. No one questioned the Chinaman’s father’s decision to sit on his hill all day as they kn

Returned, re-lived I see again, that which you saw first Back and back a peephole soul I, a new picture And then, again, at the start What was given, I return to you I return to you what was given You appear when I appear and then the same again I’m a doorway, nay A window. A way to see but not ahead I am your eyes looking back But break my gaze and look to another-- A beauty of reptilian stares, and risk the turn to stone