Bruce Bond – Cathedral
Cathedral For three days a woman paints her mother in the chill of the funeral parlor, the doll of the mother’s body open-jawed in the long astonishment that overcomes the dying. God is in the small stroke, she says, the unction of the oil, the aromatic solvent that taints the air. She lays the death-mask […]
Bruce Bond – Coyote
Coyote Elegy for W.S. Merwin I knew a man who cut his chest each night to let the animal scamper out, alone, and sniff the corners of the dark, until it had no corner, no harbor, no name, only an aurora of smoke about the creature whose breath shadowed the emptiness, so long as the […]
Bruce Bond – Willow
Willow As a boy, I gazed at the painting of a mountain, and although it did not move, I moved. I touched the diamonds of untouched canvas, extremities of blue in the long unruly hair of the willow where it bathed. It was a portrait of one man’s life alone as a mountain. I love […]
