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by Paul Nelson ………………“-lead him …………….up close to the garden, give him what outweighs the ……………….heaviness …………….of the nights-” …………………………………………….- Rilke, The Third Elegy She is waking somewhere toward dawn. Her breath quickens. Beside her I have not yet risen from the underworld, or returned from vast high seas, prolonged hunkering on desert, dharmic...
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by Larissa Nash   The ocean spills from my conch shell ears. I hear only my own sighing, as though I am still half-submerged—the last of the lily maids, too destitute for a barge and bound by whispered words, the syllables popping like sea foam. A fisherman has pulled me from the rocks. He...
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by Larissa Nash   I hear the hum of hallucinated neon in the hospital; the caw of crows in my vampire-ear.   Sympathy: the static rub on my bare shoulder; the warm hands; the cluck of tongues that do not speak my language.   The live oak in Florida—tall, strange, gray-black against thunderheads. The...
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by Joe Eldridge   The flowers at first I thought overabundant— marigolds heartily edging the plat like an infantry of Roman soldiers hunkered down in turtle formation, their bronze shields protecting the center prize (that’s you, Teutonic statue of Adonis) against an onslaught of arrows; & at your base in bold letters for all...
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