More on: Dick Allen

In the hollow of her mantle, in the crossing of her arms,
she will protect you.

But should you be patient enough to wait near the edge of the forest where invisible and visible merge with magic and miracle.

No further task than this. Dazed, he lifts his head from his right shoulder. Jerusalem, below him, is an underwater drift of specks, flecks, swirling in the tidal blur he descended through. Such a small place, really: hovels, walls, dirt streets, young women shawled, lackluster soldiers sprawling at the temple gates…. Eloi! Eloi! Vinegar and…

What you want to do is turn around slowly, keeping your hands where everyone can see them, and a pleasant smile on your face. You want to confess to all who tracked you to this alley how you were forever afraid of being found out with a bag of wrong answers: To get to Peru,…

The lyrics were appalling. Three little children lying in bed, two were sick an’ the other most dead and how the song, written by James Whitcomb Riley in racist dialect, became a minstrel song. Yet the bread itself was wonderful: cornmeal, flour, hot water, eggs, baking powder, milk, a good deal of shortening. My mother…

—Time can be extinguished like a blown-out flame. Black holes dissipate to God knows where, —Yet everything we’ve said and done remains —Like these lilies floating in this garden pool. Each name We’ve said, each paper lantern strung, each cross we’ll bear —In Time can be extinguished like a blown-out flame —Yet floats forever here.…