Author: Donald Hall

Snow fell in the night. At five-fifteen I woke to a bluish Mounded softness where The Honda was. Cat fed […]

Images leap with him from branch to branch. His eyes Brighten, his head cocks, he pauses under a green bough, […]

High on a slope in New Guinea The Grumman Hellcat Lodges among bright vines As thick as arms. In 1943, […]

All winter your brute shoulders strained against collars, padding And steerhide over the ash hames, to haul Sledges of cordwood […]

In a week or ten days The snow and ice Will melt from Cemetery Road. I’m coming! Don’t move! Once […]

A storm was coming, that was why it was dark. The wind was blowing the fronds of the palm trees […]

Mount Kearsarge shines with ice; from hemlock branches Snow slides onto snow; no stream, creek, or river Budges but remains […]

It has happened suddenly, By surprise, in an arbor, Or while drinking good coffee, After speaking, or before, That I […]

To grow old is to lose everything. Aging, everybody knows it. Even when we are young, We glimpse it sometimes, […]

December twenty-first We gather at the white Church festooned Red and green, the tree flashing Green-red lights beside the altar. […]

Katie could put her feet behind her head Or do a grand plié, position two, Her suppleness magnificent in bed. […]

when my father had been dead a week I woke with his voice in my ear I sat up in […]

The clock of my days winds down. The cat eats sparrows outside my window. Once, she brought me a small […]

In the mid August, in the second year Of my First Polar Expedition, the snow and ice of winter Almost […]