"The low hoarse purr of the whirling stone, the light-press'd blade, Diffusing, dropping, side-ways darting, in tiny showers of gold, Sparkles from the wheel." – Whitman, from "Sparkles from the Wheel"









Cooperage

1.
Where the city streets at Schenk's Corners were still mud and gravel,
where the old railroad tracks converged and passed
making their tinny song to sparks as the brakeman
squeezed his silver handle above his dusty cap,
the final railcar stopped and there beside the great
doorway open sideways strapped the giant log for barrels....