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Fern I am sitting in my darkened and darkening room my only companion a nervous fern thinking of happier or more purposeful times when I stirred up the dust of the future with imaginary steps. And now real dust settles into the corners of my neglected room where I have slept as a sojourner. I will leave this place and the next and they and I will fade from memory. I am as permanent as my name written into the sand at Bialogora; as permanent as forgotten poems abandoned in closets in Peterborough as permanent as two rings plop-plopped into the Taewa. Adam Tod Leverton (


Adam Tod Leverton (

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