The hope a mooncalf follows
is sacrifice for slaughter,
and yet the wings of swallows
still skip across the water. 

The Official Website of the Leading Formalist Poet 

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Crossing Geneva Marsh

Mist lingers on the surface of stagnant tea-brown water. The

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Asters

Asters—sweltering days, old entreaty, spell, the gods shed timid rays,

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Praised Be

Praised be the ugly and the beautiful, the slow decay

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The Snowman

The Emperor of the Universe of pain jutted his upper

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© by Leo Yankevich
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