Sea Lion
The gulls are in flap again
poetry
Yellow Man Rides the Train
The old man's hand wrinkled
Grave Sight
The Hereford and his icicle chin
On the Road This Spring
One week ago I drove home through flurries
Rendezvous
This time, flying by myself, I recite
A Primitive in Helga's Living Room
"We think that it may be a painting of some god,"
The Chambered Nautilus
The wind comes around the house
Somebody Else's Tragedy
There's nothing, nothing
Now You Have Burned Your Books
Name another poem,another line
Soundings
I understand my hair and eyelashes
Pages
Current Issue: No. 301
