Hi ~  If you’ve come across this site, I’ve just opened it as of Jan 13 2012, and am building the content as we speak (ur, as you read).  Look for a fuller site very soon!

In the meantime, here’s a new sonnet to amuse yourself with.


When the swan dives low to catch the final fish
before the cusp of day and eve gives way to dusk,
while mist erodes the edges of the strand
grassy to a point, then bulwarked by the wood
that cloaks the scene in calm, and we who crouch
among the reeds, fishing ourselves, tranced
by the turn of day and the lifting air, start
at the sudden shock of life — when that swan dives
and the water ricochets with a sumptuous splash
then slides to still as if it never stirred,
why do we wait for the pond to part again,
all ears rapt and all eyes map the spot
as if the very future turned on it,
as if we might emerge the swan ourselves?