by Adrienne Rich: In the old city incendiaries abound / who hate this place stuck to their footsoles
by Jane Blue: He was picking up pine cones for a cockatiel. / She was a ghostly film unwinding.
- Vernal House
by Maurya Simon: Tiny minarets of dew balance on blade-tips.
by Maurya Simon: Slowly, like a hot tear tracing the skin’s folds, / God drew His finger along my parted lips,
by Stanley Moss: Until the rain takes over my life I’ll never change, / although I know by heart the Lord’s Prayer and the prayer Christ prayed
- The Swan in the Deck of Fortunes
by Holly Prado: death: one clear tone through wood. / here’s the apple tree my family left,
- One Ritual I’ve been Asked to Do
by Holly Prado: this bird: its thread of green spins / healthily right through the tree’s / large taking-in of sun.
- Yard Work
by Sarah Maclay: I’ll clear the old, putrid fruit, / the carcasses of bees where oranges have fallen
by Jeff Halbert: Before the first scratch of light, / I lace my shoes & stretch
- Name That Tune
by Terese Svoboda: Twice, like plants left in her care, / they die. Now what she’s holding is / as large as both husbands’,