An American ElegyGrace Mattern We go back to not dying,wherever we fall is the beginning —an allée of elms planted to createa lace of sunlight and shadow.What separates branches from windin designing their dance? Nothing.We carry our own seasons wonderingwhen we will...
I dream of a house I’ll never haveCarmen Barefield maybe a little bungalow with a big backyardand a fig tree’s shadow painting the grassits heavy limbs bowing from all its fruitand on move in day, I’ll leave the unpackingto curl up beneath it just because I can the...
The Idea of Eleanor William Tilleczek Hail, corner-rounder and surpriseUnder the table! We are your luck,You ours. We await even your hiccups:There is nothing to prove. Every radiantLove is in your face, now forming atIts break-neck pace each day. We waitTo hail you,...
“If landscape once was / sacramental, then / let me dig in mud / and dust, smear its mark / across my brow, wash / my feet in moving / waters when I step / into its river, / and let me never / find the other side.”