Age moves in the hound As it was in me moving Through forest I found As to dog I went That year scrounging Through Manhattan.... The wood opened out, Unlikely in the city, As to boy slandering To leave his fitful home, Bright he might survive With his pen-knife only.
From American Prodigal by Liam Rector, published by Story Line Press. Copyright © 1994 by Liam Rector. Reprinted by permission of the author and Story Line Press. All rights reserved.