by ALEXIS LATHAM
Not this gathering of stars and shellsor cosmologies of water snails
by DAVID HAWKINS
This is the place just before nowhere.
by JESS WILLIARD
Utmost, utmost the geese insist.
by THEA GAVIN
all of us in the Canyonsmaller or larger thansomething, all of us hungry.
by KATHLEEN HELLEN
she wears the thinness of the aged tree,the plans that have miscarried.She’d lost eight last season.
by ERIC FISHER STONE
life has no meaning except life itselfand the sky needs no reasonfor birds to fly there, the sunrich enough for spiders
by ELLIE ROGERS
That night, I searched the tree linefor her hide, tan among branches.That night, I dreamed a birch grove,paper strips hiding her white tail:
by MICHELLE MENTING
but no one is there to watch you
weather your notions as you strip lichen off bark, as you peelbark from tree, as you reveal the bare trunk and the ooze of sap,
does anyone sense your thought-quake?
by TED KOOSER
This tree has a thousand little windowsthat it throws open in the fall
by BETH MCDERMOTT
I think of the speciesof mole with unformed
by JEREMY NATHAN MARKS
Salted shingles, wooden gables and streets of stone: this city is a mandala of whalebone and oil.
by RITA ORRELL
After lying in the cool dark sand, you rise, khaki pants soakingwet, to show me the belly of a horseshoe crab,
by RODNEY NELSON
we want to go rowing on itbut more than cold is holding upthe river
by AG SYNCLAIR
in the orchardamong half naked trees
by ALEXIS LATHEMAt this hour I watch the light gather up the wheat in her blue nets.The ground thickens with mist and the throat of eveninggurgles and purrs. The goats are in their beds.