Philip Levine

A Sleepless Night – Philip Levine

A Sleepless Night – Philip Levine

April, and the last of the plum blossoms scatters on the black grass before dawn. The sycamore, the lime, the struck pine inhale the first pale hints of sky. An iron day, I think, yet it will come dazzling, the light rise from the belly of leaves and pour burning from the cups of poppies. The mockin... »