Snowmelt & Fresh Cream

“Again, as a boy, his chapel is the wild places, his saints are scattered in the dark grass. The scent of fox, his swinging incense, an ivy tangle his high arch. Nettles bed his raw knees, peat has smoked his cloak. Alive, alive in the greenness of things.”

Several piles, dumps, loads, heaps, of plums, blue plums, covered with frost...Despite the white frost, the blue of the plums was sunny and incandescent. Make no mistake about it, it wasn’t the blue of any sky, it was the blue of small ripe plums. And their blue is what I send you in your cell tonight as I write in the dark.

Terror on the edge of the grave is divine and I sink into the terror whose child I am.

and the taste of him and her together will be on her tongue like a blanket of strawberries long after summer has passed.

       I didn’t know the cost