At the Bureau of Divine Music by Michael Heffernan
By Michael Heffernan
A considerate and stylish assortment from comprehensive puppy Michael Heffernan.
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Extra resources for At the Bureau of Divine Music
The rain she made reminded her townspeople of the merciless amenities. Dissimulations on that point proved brutally useless. I had walked back in from the garden without a clue to the heartrending bluebird’s whereabouts. As for you, I surrendered your memory to the goodwives of Kittythorpe, hugging their elbows at picket gates by banks of bloodwort, henbane, dogtooth, wormwood, scraps of you twisting into the rain. 23 Eclogue The ﬁeld across the road was beautiful. I won’t describe it. I went walking out just now to see it.
Voices were coming out of everywhere. Laden with agony beyond my reach, the letter dropped behind the davenport. The time had come to rise up and occur. I stood beside the window and beheld. The usual blackbirds on my neighbor’s roof had come to shiver as the rites require. They were three women, one of them a crone, leaning together, elbow to elbow, and one complaining Sister, she is old— we need to take her up and make her ﬂy, and if she doesn’t, maybe she should fall. — black angels veering in the atmosphere to look us in our faces where we stand like empty-handed lovers facing the sea, wondering why we do this, and how those birds could fall and keep aloft in the one air.
That cat would not die. She took to her duchy of dung to build more cottages among its brooding hills. The rain she made reminded her townspeople of the merciless amenities. Dissimulations on that point proved brutally useless. I had walked back in from the garden without a clue to the heartrending bluebird’s whereabouts. As for you, I surrendered your memory to the goodwives of Kittythorpe, hugging their elbows at picket gates by banks of bloodwort, henbane, dogtooth, wormwood, scraps of you twisting into the rain.