Richard Long Requiem for French Horn and Clarinet The other day I saw Rāfe on the shoulder of a road, holding a pistol like a French horn, not like back in the day when he rode on the rack of my bike, facing traffic, playing his instrument and I would stop to play along on […]
Read MoreRichard Long The Long Now at Marine Crossing I think my father was the ghost on the grate of the bridge from Parris Island to Beaufort standing at attention as the sky draped around him like loose-fitting dress blues who as I passed clicked his heels right-face so he could follow me into town the […]
Read MoreRichard Long After Being Long Gone When I rode into the valley of a slide guitar, a tambourine, my past congregation whirling in a yard of hoedown, I remembered my pastor telling me there’ll come the day after being long gone I’d come to miss the potluck of dumplings, collards, and pie, the girl leaping […]
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