Winter 2006 • Vol. XXVIII No. 1 Young WritersJanuary 1, 2006 |


All winter I watched the swarms of starlingsswooping in the northern sky like cast netsor some foreign alphabets flying loose and returning and rushing out again.I wanted to live the life I desired,as we all did, I think, our one desire, wanting to do what we wanted to do,sweeping and then spreading and turning back.A flood of arrows, dare-arrows, daring to hope, never horizontals or verticals,not a straight arrow or as the crow flew,though life, I think, looked daggers at me, daring me write this letter now to you,scratching the sky with a row of my words(those letters sent to him that lives away). Look me daggers, love, stare me in the eye,dare me to love you and I'll dare you back.Darling, I will say, my starling, my crow— no, not a thrush as the century turned,though I felt a rush looking at the skyand all the devastations of desire, as staggering as ever—startling, true,or dulled, I think, by the drift of the yearsor the drag of the years dragging me ba

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