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enough to sing a darting throatful glee, or say, "High birds perform fine surgeries aloft"; or soft, as light that lost its way along the way, or words that, silent, take their place in silence; even rich and sad the final flurry, now with sighing met, a little hope, a little rashness) yet ¦¦¦¦
Nicholas Laughlin recently left his job as an editor at a communications agency in Port of Spain, Trinidad. He now spends most of his time reading. Originally published in the April/May 2002 issue of Boston Review |
