The Government Lake
It was dark and I could hear the cicada out the window, where there is a lawn, several very large pine trees, and a pond, and it was going like crazy—dur-rip, dur-rip. Sometimes dur-rip-a-rip, but in no . . .
Brick, a literary journal
Brick
PO Box 609, Stn P
Toronto, ON M5S 2Y4
Canada
Works of art are of an infinite loneliness and with nothing to be so little reached as with criticism. Only love can grasp and hold and fairly judge them. — Rainer Maria Rilke