For Herb Reed
You died with pockets stuffed
poetry
For Caspar David Freidrich
After the wine tasters,
eighth leg
you awaken on a tether. thin,
Aphelion
Stepchild to Pyrrha, I form stones to broken prayers,
Gull, Hill, Cloud, Wind
Nope! Gull's no lizard through the air;
Arnaldo Vincenzi
Garrisoned in his realms,
Holy Women
Winter nights in New Brunswick
Woke Up This Morning, Looked Round for My Shoes
I was taking a walk. Perhaps it was Saturday. I remember
One for the History Books
The lizard stalks a fly,
Christina's World
You are turned from me. Your slight anatomy
Pages
Current Issue: No. 301
