Intimations of Death, Passing through Connecticut James Dowthwaite Harlem 125th St It is a cold morning, Cimmerian, and the last of the snowfall and the last of the night collude in the air of departure, enclosing the forty-one who wait on the platform. Harlem’s ghosts are lost, as they rise from the midair, caught with the half life of breath, turning and twisting in its pathetic ascension. Even talk freezes at this hour and they are quiet, those waiting on […] Continue Reading
