If history is a record of survivors, Poetry shelters other voices..

Soundwaves. It’s the difference between one stillness and another stillness..

There’s a level at which words are spirit and paper is skin. That’s the fascination of archives. There’s still a bodily trace..

A poem is an invocation, rebellious return to the blessedness of beginning again, wandering free in pure process of forgetting and finding..

Whose order is shut inside the structure of a sentence?.

Herman Melville is not comforting. Emily Dickinson isn’t either. Maybe their work is too hungry for comfort, or just too vivid for comfort. But Henry….

In Maureen Owen's perfectly titled Erosion's Pull, words and lines map, unmap, and revamp our everyday postcontemporary geographies: ironies and ambi….

I often think of the space of a page as a stage, with words, letters, syllable characters moving across..