Reginald Shepherd

I'm learning to remember the sound days make: one sky disdaining the idea of clouds, sunlight surviving its centrifuge, breeze keeping blessed September at bay. Sweet smell of short-haired boys I try to recall, having been away from skin for so long [...]

One day I looked up from my imagination, a paraphrase of freedom in the sensorium. Little star drowned in smoke, little ghost fuming to ash and burnt grass. The genius of the camera absorbs him, halts reflective paper skin, pages of meditative hair: [...]

For Peter Gizzi I listened to the utterance of an owl, I took my counsel there, and waited as I was told. The liquid intervals from Troy to Ithaca made me ten years a man, twice that: Penelope upstairs unraveling her story, while I wrote mine in san [...]