More on: focus

Walking the baby at noon along our vacation road I turned toward a lit hum animating old oaks ryegrass salvia thistle wild distance folding six white boxes’ uncountable pale thoughts measuring the air our foreign bodies nearly colliding but clearer, wouldn’t— not mine, hum I heard only when the baby slept against me. I was…

In Pierre Bonnard’s The Open Window the artist looks outward from his modest living room. It is summer, the heat baking the orange on the grill-like wall. To the right, a woman is resting in a chair, escaping as she can the sizzling midday air in which even her quizzical black cat blurs in the…

IN THE CAR ON THE WAY to the Grosses’ my wife says, “I’m just hoping we can get to know some of these people. Like really get to know them.” I nod and she goes on, “And I don’t mean like they are projects, like we are just trying to save them.” I agree with her.…