More on: Nancy Naomi Carlson

the white-haired child is there, upright in the mire a son of Adam seeking the orient within seeing himself in the eyes of the pack that combs the countryside, spurred on by brass horns his fortune has no bounds he pores over matter which unnerves his world especially the timid ones striding on ibis legs,…

when somebody knocks on my door it’s God asking for shelter make yourself at home and recite for me please a sacred song from your native land you who live in exile in the West and the wistful lines of your ancient poem in what language do you speak to mortals in groves we’re promised…

an old saying goes that we live out our days clad in a shroud thrown over one shoulder no need to be God to confirm the mystical world of the spirit and angels heaven and hell the almond tree in full bloom and all the rare people who speak on behalf of ineffable truths to…