Poems

Poem

Spices and gold once cast a spell
On bearded men in caravels.

New World New World cried history
Old World Old World sighed every tree.

Poem

Thomas Farynor, Baker to the King,
Left his oven burning with the firewood nearby.
The embers muttered, the little flames took wing

Poem

In the beginning was the word
and the word is ours:

the names of places,
the names of flowers,
the name of names,
words are ours.