July 17, 1935
Forest Hour
We said: “The sun’s gone, it is dusk, the full moon tops that giant spruce.” We said: “Our lips launch clouds, the snow’s cold crunch is brittle.” “In dusk’s rinsed blue and moon’s rinsed glacial light this forest hour,” we said, “has the vast dream-stillness of our shadows.” “That delicate swift stipple of wild paws on snow, the ferns asleep, the moss, the sleeping birch and ash, the sleep of chipmunks and the starlings’ sleep!” we said, hushed as the haze of frost. James Daly has had both poetry and prose published in magazines, and has worked in steel mills, taught school, directed and acte
