Poem in a Landscape

Reading Plato

I think about the mornings it saved me to look at the hearts penknifed on the windows of the bus, or at the initials scratched into the plastic partition, in front of which a cabbie went on about bread his…

The Lyric City

I grew up ten miles north of Cincinnati, Ohio, in a quiet suburb that once had been a small village in its own right until it was engulfed by the city’s suburban expansion. It remains, today, a collection of tree-lined…