Poetry


Measure My Song

by REBECCA STARKS

It’s one of those clear mornings
the Falcons seem to flock to,
as if preparing for desert skies


Surface Tension

by CAITLIN GILDRIEN

This is the part of the poem
where we take refuge
in a small, still image from nature


On-Farm Research

by JESSICA GIGOT

The entomologist comes to the farm
To capture and record the diversity of bees
In our fields.


Apples

by DAVID R. FORMAN

It’s an unbelievable year
for apples.


Vis Inertiae

by MAXIMILIANE DONICHT

Hardened, here, after all that. Somewhere
you are ready to cannon
into the dilating valley                        or hunker down


Face, Circle, Abundant

by LAUREN CAMP

It wasn’t that I wanted to be alone,

just that time had been given amid plank
and dunes.


My Mom Takes My Nine-Month-Old Son to Put Down Her Dog

by BEN MICHELMAN

He's starting to understand
the laws of this universe:


Gather

by GEORGE PERREAULT

blueblack, too soon for sparkled spiders
when a boy I can barely recall walks out
through memory where nightwet fields slope


Portrait of My Father as Icarus

by LUCIEN MEADOWS

My father climbs high branches above me
While on the grass, I hold sycamore leaves


Rachel Carson at Woods Hole, Massachusetts
Marine Biological Laboratory, 1929

by DONELLE DREESE

It was an ornate church
an altar for moody pools


Midwestern Drive

by HEIDI McKINLEY

Wildflowers bloom in the unmowed ditch.
Roadside billboards claim to know what God’s plan isn’t.


Another Night, Just

by JACK B. BEDELL

Our day starts with news
          of another mass shooting out West.


These Horses Will Not Be Harnessed

by AMY MILLER

                     Yes, you may be threatened. Yes,
you may wake up suddenly surrounded by horses.


Not This

by ALEXIS LATHEM

Not this gathering of stars and shells
or cosmologies of water snails


Excellent Sphagnum

by DAVID HAWKINS

This is the place just before nowhere.


This Year

by JESS WILLIARD

Utmost, utmost the geese insist.


Hiking Across Grand Canyon Alone At Night Barefoot

by THEA GAVIN

all of us in the Canyon
smaller or larger than
something, all of us hungry.


As If It Were a Child

by KATHLEEN HELLEN

she wears the thinness of the aged tree,
the plans that have miscarried.

She’d lost eight last season.


My Eighth Birthday

by ERIC FISHER STONE

life has no meaning except life itself
and the sky needs no reason
for birds to fly there, the sun
rich enough for spiders


Recovering

by ELLIE ROGERS

That night, I searched the tree line
for her hide, tan among branches.
That night, I dreamed a birch grove,
paper strips hiding her white tail:


To Skin Bare

by MICHELLE MENTING

but no one is there to watch you

weather your notions as you strip lichen off bark, as you peel
bark from tree, as you reveal the bare trunk and the ooze of sap,

does anyone sense your thought-quake?


A Summer Linden

by TED KOOSER

This tree has a thousand little windows
that it throws open in the fall


Raised Bed

by BETH MCDERMOTT

I think of the species
of mole with unformed


Newport

by JEREMY NATHAN MARKS

Salted shingles, wooden gables and
streets of stone: this city is a mandala
of whalebone and oil.

 


Sir David Attenborough, I Think I Love You

by RITA ORRELL

After lying in the cool dark sand,    you rise, khaki pants soaking
wet,    to show me the belly of a horseshoe crab,

 


The Day of Saint Richard of Wyche

by RODNEY NELSON

we want to go rowing on it
but more than cold is holding up
the river


Outlier

by AG SYNCLAIR

in the orchard
among half naked trees


Bérgère

by ALEXIS LATHEM

At this hour I watch the light gather up the wheat in her blue nets.
The ground thickens with mist and the throat of evening
gurgles and purrs. The goats are in their beds.