John F. Deane

I see him, mariner Jesus, walking on corrupted waters of the Danube while down in silted depths lurk the unexploded bombs of lately wars; I walk out,...

The old man, out and almost-down, reeksof dank doorways, of unwashed clothes; sits...

He was up in the choir loft, tuning his pipesof the old century’s wind-pump organ; I heardtaps and bangs on metal, strange half-throated off-...