Poetry by Devon Brock.
Precarious, this light that hangs from a fissure,ties itself to a wet rail with a tendril and pulls,as if the nether side of a storm breaks,upturned and pillowed in a thimbleless pool. On the plains, shipwrecks poke their prows cotillion,sway in the studied drift of sorghum and wheatthreshed in the hoglight of another wet afternoon.But... Continue Reading →
Is this how stone hears rain?What an odd question to pose.But there it is: Is thisHow stoneHears rain? For now, today,this moment,this hour,this house.this body,this grain, Sits, As raindrapes over the eavesand runs hollowon stucco. And in this place,at the center of all things,where each stone is a stoneunyielding, Rain is rain,rock is rock,and one... Continue Reading →
