Somewhere Finding Ferity by Jack Phillips

This dawn the equinox moon is waning a black belly with a left-handed crescent and waxing with frog bubbles puff-up sparrows ferny fiddleheads popping bloodroot in vernal burgeoning. Certain poets (the Beats in particular) prescribe some shack simple those rough-hewn days of dharmas and canned beans in a far-out hovel to revive the talent for…

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Translations by Rick McElhany

We are blue moon shadows,moving in a soft, improvised dance —a bit clumsy, at times, but sincere,and grateful for this special timein a place that is not ours.A meadowlark’s alarmhas been the only signof any indignation from our hosts. Dances of mice and insects,in rustling leaves and grasses,are not lost on us —proof of the…

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