Critics Page
DAVID HINTON
Thought gone
dark needs
nothing more of it-
self, needs dark
alone woven ink-
black through blackened
light. It’s an ancient
tool, this gathering—
basket of shadow, and it
glistens still with
use. Hummingbird’s
quick glint, crow’s winged
fleck of
night: these last
few things
slip vanishing
through, leaving
again this dark
harvest of origins.