We sit with friends at the round
glass table. The talk is clever;
everyone rises to it. Bees
come to the spiral pear peelings
on your plate.
From my lap or your hand
the spice of our morning’s privacy
comes drifting up. Fall sun
passes through the wine.

A Message from the Editors

As a reader of our efforts, you have stood with us on the front lines in the battle for culture. Learn how your support contributes to our continued defense of truth.

This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 5 Number 9, on page 46
Copyright © 2021 The New Criterion | www.newcriterion.com