The Stool
he tightened up his rope of silk
poetry
November Saskatoon
Stone hands with iron knuckles
Rejoice
I rejoice that that tree
Endnote
What do you think as you stand in the fire,
yearning
A round-eyed cell, demanding breath
At My End
If at my end I cry to God
Little Old Man
little old man
When I Was a Young Fool
When I was a young fool
When I Was Far Away
When I was far away and fled
Over the garden Wall
My mother, while caressing camels,
Pages
Current Issue: No. 301
