Twenty-twenty was a perfect year to do just that.” ...

Alike the bitter cup of grief, Alike the draught of bliss, Its progress leaves but moment brief For baffled lips to kiss.

I’m so wildly unprolific, the poems I have not written would reach from here to the California coast if you laid them end to end. And if you stacked them up, the poems I have not written would sway ...

I didn’t live through the Christmas of 1929, but growing up in Nogales, the border was always there—constant, imposing, ...

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