By HONOR MOORE
To bind at last
the loose miscellany
a first love left
and shattered.
That summer
in Florence alone
she stepped
into the Bargello,
room of Donatello, of saints
given shape.
By HONOR MOORE
To bind at last
the loose miscellany
a first love left
and shattered.
That summer
in Florence alone
she stepped
into the Bargello,
room of Donatello, of saints
given shape.
Please welcome back TC contributors Elizabeth Hazen, Jonathan Moody, Daniel Tobin, and Honor Moore (whose poem “Song,” published in the first issue of The Common, was reprinted in Best American Poetry 2012). We’re also delighted to welcome Gerard Coletta, who is making his first appearance in The Common.
By HONOR MOORE
Of sheets and skin and fur of him,
bed of ground and river, of land,
or tongue, of arms, the wanton field,