by Warren Gaston | Aug 8, 2022
It sounds like a lot, seven billion. And there will be more. But this morning, as the sun traveled long from China, in a garden in Ohio, there was only one, one bird singing, one man hearing the song.
by Warren Gaston | Aug 6, 2022
I am walking. An ant is walking too, unwavering, toward my rising, falling shoe. The ant is oblivious to the peril of two scales of the world colliding, mine sizeable, its miniscule. The ant walks on soon to be crushed, three dimensions compressed into two. I, not the...
by Warren Gaston | Aug 3, 2022
The child in our neighbor’s yard, a boy, ten, their son, unfolding into his father’s fantasy, a blue necessity, soon to adulterate into duties and requirements the heft of his body is expected to fulfill. The boy swings; a rope – a boa, a stick – a sword, on a...
by Warren Gaston | Jul 31, 2022
Do not go far from the sea and from the earth. Do not go far from the moon and stars. Do not run, slowly walk, through cloud rain. Do not build thick windowed walls against wind. Do not turn your back on the sun. Do not hide in Edison’s light from night’s...
by Warren Gaston | Jul 25, 2022
There are churches where the Holy Spirit sleeps in a vase waiting for flowers. The bells don’t arouse him, neither the fusty hymns nor the sexless sermons nor pious feet shuffling toward the meal of bread. But when a bride comes before her nuptials, tickling him with...
