The Art Finds Kingdoms In A Foot

We Thought We Were Done With These Things But We Were Wrong. We Thought, Because We Had Power, We Had Wisdom.

I Shall Not Rest Quiet In Montparnasse. I Shall Not Lie Easy At Winchelsea. You May Bury My Body In Sussex Grass, You May Bury My Tongue At Champmedy. I Shall Not Be There. I Shall Rise And Pass. Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee

Seine And Piave Are Silver Spoons, But The Spoonbowl-metal Is Thin And Worn

Broad-streeted Richmond . . . The Trees In The Streets Are Old Trees Used To Living With People, Family Trees That Remember Your Grandfather's Name.

I've Been Reading A Lot Lately About Indian Captives. One Woman Who Had Been Captured By The Indians And Made A Squaw Was Resentful When She Was Rescued Because She'd Found That There Was A Lot More Work To Do As The Wife Of A White Man.