Letter to Gabriel Written in the Margins of Murder Ballads
(Continued from Page 11)
I do not bring you to the river beneath the river because time ruins, a heresy. The river erases itself when we need it most, dawn inside dawn, tar in the throat of the oak, a hermit thrush strange and metallic over Jefferson Park repeats the vowels its body carves. A fine ash of song too far south. A house is taken from the landscape and the wind blows stronger through that space. The body can’t signify that kind of vacancy.
(Continue to Page 13)