Tunnel
The train moves through a tunnel. Grey when we enter, blue at the other end. We are doors to rooms with doors to other rooms. Do we deserve such endlessness? The train winds through woods leafy wit…
Spare
My friend tells me to get a house, big like hers, with spare rooms. Her rooms are spare, all right: polished baseboards, stale air. In her house, talk is spare, everyone in their corners. In my sma…
Andrew Shields