Kathleen Wakefield

          —from the Italian:  passage; passing;           a crossing/the transition between vocal registers...

Lord, I have lived like a house that has forgotten its windows, its door painted black, closed. Only now am I brave enough to claim this feral loneliness....

August and already the birch’s rustling is autumnal, transposed to a lower key....

                      —for my fatherAfter so much darkness, the field’...