The Night House, Billy Collins

Every day the body works in the fields of the world Mending a stone wall Or swinging a sickle through the tall grass- The grass of civics, the grass of money- And every night the body curls around itself And listens for the soft bells of sleep. But the heart is restless and rises From … Continue reading

Scarecrow on Fire, by Dean Young

We all think about suddenly disappearing. The train tracks lead there, into the woods. Even in the financial district: wooden doors in alleyways. First I want to put something small into your hand, a button or river stone or key I don’t know to what. I don’t have that house anymore across from the graveyard … Continue reading