“ Everything had become song. The curve of the road beneath the clouds here, and there the strokes of dark earth, the green and the gray, the torn pink of clay and gravel under fingertips. The consonanc… Deborah Heissler
“ And thenwe no longer distinguish far nor nearThey sleepdreamgather branchesfor this firethe cloud brewsagainst the powerless day —Long line of fugitivesbeneath the snow Deborah Heissler
“ Latefor the present, I supposeaccentuated each timeyou see, quick enoughthis fraction of earthunderfootthat upright speechimprints,like the whole of beingresumesWe’ve hit on something like lightning s… Deborah Heissler
“ Silence. First it’s a cloud of apricot trees in flower, yellow or ivory, like a thousand little butterflies sown in the fresh grass, moving in the glow of lamplight when night ascends. Fragments of dr… Deborah Heissler
