Thursday, December 2
EPITHALAMIUM At the boundary of the cornfield the windbreak stands. The corn is in order, aligned, processional. The windbreak is wilder but also planned, holds at heart a bank of feral roses, white, tangled, voluptuous, liturgical, with flower heads like mouths open or opening past words, ecstatic, immortal as the fragrance of a rose. How fine they are, but not as beautiful as those two animals I saw one day eating them to live. (Catherine Pierce)