The Iron Key

These poems are filled with the accumulated treasure of a lifetime, yet at their heart is the loss that fuels this dream of abundance: the friend to be mourned, the child to be loved, the poem to be written. Again and again, The Iron Key brings us to the door that opens onto the future.

from "April 2003"

      I felt like a boy again, my navel flat as a dime—
      The glamour of protest, however compromised,

      Our certainty old people were wrong.
      Poetry is against war or else it isn't poetry

      Said my friend the poet, as if by breathing
      We were glamorous.