Category Archives: Poetry

– I. The Burial of the Dead – And so I asked him:‘Watchman, dear Watchman, what of the Night?What is left of the Light? My sight? I’d rather dreamOf snow-sprinkled dawns and little wooden bridgesOn rickety dashboards against distant Rocky ridgesOr silvery Citibank lights twinkling with Manhattan trepidationOr a glittering London with SkyTrain stations.’ ButContinue reading “Watchman, What of the Night?”