Sitting by the win-
dow, staring down the cold New
England sun, I think

not of myself but
the High Sierra, sunny
granite outcrops where

I’d sit as the birds
ignored me. O, unborn com-
panion, secret,

nameless, understood
in patience, in poverty.
You’ve known me all a-

long. I know you when
out of nowhere sparkling song
and name flash as one.

Author: Tom D'Evelyn

Tom D'Evelyn is a private editor and writing tutor in Cranston RI and, thanks to the web, across the US and in the UK. He can be reached at D'Evelyn has a PhD in Comparative Literature from UC Berkeley. Before retiring he held positions at The Christian Science Monitor, Harvard University Press, Boston University and Brown University. He ran a literary agency for ten years, publishing books by Leonard Nathan and Arthur Quinn, among others. Before moving to Portland OR he was managing editor at Single Island Press, Portsmouth NH. He blogs at and other sites.

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