Category: Personal

After Dark

The night is only a sort of carbon paper Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars Letting in the light, peephole after peephole— A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things. Under the eyes of the stars and the moon’s rictus He suffers his desert pillow, sleeplessness Stretching its fine, irritating sand in all directions. Sleep

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Ziplines

Three hundred sixty days ago, if you told me I’d be riding a zipline, I would have laughed. I would have just told you that things like that will happen in the next lifetime, or an alternate universe. I would have reminded you that there are other things to do in a nature park, like

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Love Letters

No one writes love letters anymore. I can’t say that I don’t regret anything since we’ve gone our separate ways; I regret what could have been, but I have no regrets about what it was. It’s always hard to write of love. Love is that one glimmering grain of sand that you stop for when

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The Work of the Eyes

Rainer Maria Rilke once wrote, “The work of the eyes is done.  Go now and do the heart-work on the images imprisoned within you.” Coy Caballes, among so few, lighted and stoked the embers that started a revolution. That’s a lot to say for someone.  The word “revolution” has been so abused here that anyone

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