Skip to content →

Near Nod

When I was the age of three in the sultry heat the weeds were blos-

soming and I looked off to the east. Cut from stone, my hand

strained for the wall. Long ridges of corrugated steel shot past,

moving south to north. And there stood a man upon whom the sun

had descended. Later my hand grew fluent of speech, and ap-

proached me, quiet and unpretending, laid out on the earth to dry.

from WatchwordFind more by William Fuller at the library

Copyright © William Fuller
Used with the permission of Flood Editions.

Published in Poems William Fuller

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

Any views, findings, conclusions, or recommendations expressed in this (publication, website, exhibit, etc.) do not necessarily represent those of the Idaho Humanities Council or the National Endowment for the Humanities.

css.php