Two Poems
Peter Gizzi, 25 January 2007
The 6 a.m. January encaustic clouds are built in a waxy gray putty whizzing by with spots of luminous silvery crack-o’-the-world light coming through, an eerie end-o’-the-world feeling yet reassuring like an old movie. Do I really have to go out there? Now a hint of muted salmon tones breaking a warmish band of welcoming pinkish light. Is it like this every morning? My...