The Vanishing of Pain and Love in Winter
by Dan Stryk The sky, on this late afternoon, spreads milky rose, then fades, above low hills, to chalky cloud — pale whisper of hydrangea in
Crow’s Way in Late Fall
by Dan Stryk What need of philosophy, or abstract talk that droops and withers once again, at each year’s end, like the cluster of
What becomes of things we make or do?
by Dan Stryk Strolling through our neighborhood this languid afternoon— after reading essays by a man who’d left his Brooklyn youth, citybred