by David Hanlon We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect.
—Anaïs NinI am yesterday’s light,
a shard of citrus
caught behind black curtains.Dawn finds me
folded into pleats of shadow—
birdsong blurred
to a distant remembering,
the river forgetting
its silver breath.Then a great spotted woodpecker,
red-crowned, insistent,
strikes the oak
until the tree remembers
the green pulse beneath its bark,
and I… Continue reading