Spring 2012



A cardinal. An ocean. Months
without hearing another’s voice.

Tell me now, again, who I am.
There’s room enough on the verge of

Spring to address the dead, the dreamed,
the desired. Show me something

open, something all of a piece,
something rare to pace the waiting.


You work, bent on the heart’s tension,
figuring the feel of how to

feel. There’s been a hand in the world
ever since backgrounds existed,

ever since trains were around. And
the letters you learned by looking

you leave in your way as a way
to make light. Every shadow

rendered graphic, flat, the room gets
endless, cathedral. One forgets

the flaw you perform, the ever-
wavering line you can’t make straight.



The player will show in this paragraph

PBS documentary on Margaret Kilgallen (Art 21: Season 1)