Bruce Bond – Cathedral

Cathedral For three days a woman paints her mother in the chill of the funeral parlor, the doll of the mother’s body open-jawed in the long astonishment that overcomes the dying. God is in the small stroke, she says, the unction of the oil, the aromatic solvent that taints the air. She lays the death-mask […]

Bruce Bond – Coyote

Coyote         Elegy for W.S. Merwin I knew a man who cut his chest each night         to let the animal scamper out, alone, and sniff the corners of the dark,         until it had no corner, no harbor, no name, only an aurora of smoke         about the creature whose breath shadowed the emptiness, so long as the […]

Bruce Bond – Willow

Willow As a boy, I gazed at the painting of a mountain,                                                  and although it did not move,             I moved.                                    I touched the diamonds of untouched canvas,             extremities of blue                                    in the long unruly hair of the willow             where it bathed.             It was a portrait of one man’s life alone                                                                        as a mountain.                                                  I love […]