your eyes (the Great Divide)
your eyes are
poetry
The Anatomy of Trees
What can't be seen at night: the pale
The Last Autumn Evening on the Squamish River
I shivered as I stared up at the mountains and tried to place
August Swim
The sun pillowed the darkness of the lake bottom
Day Labourer in a Summer Storm
On the slight incline of the stable roof, he has stepped slowly
Night by the Highway
Air whistles through the heat vent as trucks pass outside,
Bears
Narrow as guard box, the small block house
Ben in Tamboerskloof
You are the letter I dared not write
Return from Cincinnati
She's seen people kiss the ground
Other Customs
In this small white-washed room where on your knees
Pages
Current Issue: No. 301
