bon bon il est un pays Samuel Beckett all right all right there's a land where forgetting where forgetting weighs gently upon worlds unnamed there the head we

The Leaving Brigit Pegeen Kelly My father said I could not do it, but all night I picked the peaches. The orchard was still, the canals ran steadily. I was a

Father Ted Kooser *May 19, 1999* Today you would be ninety-seven if you had lived, and we would all be miserable, you and your children, driving from clinic to

Gnosticism V Anne Carson ". . . what the little word *after *means . . ." —I. Kant, Inaugural Dissertation, 2.399.4-6 Stuffed September night, the hot leaves