by Yvonne Nguyen i. Buying a house for the way the snow huddles on the front porch on the coldest day of the year is like loving a sad...

by Paul Ilechko Tell me everything you know about the orange sky     the way the mass of cloud hangs low at sunset     and the way that...

By Lawrence Wray A wooden footbridge reaches over the stream where the available sunlight is diffuse on the Touch-me-nots. I made for...

By Brian Phipps For Emily 1. Nativity On the Feast of the Birth of the Theotokos And didn’t her arrival change all things? So long they...

by Matthew J. Andrews Mine is a manna-spirit, a holy being with an apron tied around its waist, who finds me when I am aimless and gently...

by Paul Ilechko Red-faced against tenderness the blood rush the heat rush her as distance closing her as apparition as ghostly...

In ten years children will ask about the tiny holes polka dotting storefronts across America. They’ll put their small fingers into them...

by Ahrend Torrey Some people talk to animals. Not many listen though. — A.A. Milne You won’t see them in your business suit. You won’t...

By William Ingogly What do you know of light, little heart’s voice, little calling in the darkness? The silence fears the word you carry...

By Lawrence Wray Which poets were called for by losing a voice? When they had I knew instantly my own lack, and returned to their poems...

by Seth Jani In the deserts of mid-July I occasionally found a light, cold and crystalized, hidden away from the world in the summer...

by Todd C. Truffin Ice hiding in spent shade— while sun gropes with blind rays past rust and salt, shivering in gusts oblivious—hopes...

by Matthew J. Andrews It is here, under the heavy blanket of silence that accompanies exile, with the body cut in patterns by the skin...

by MEH Say James Baldwin was right and white christians only wage a dispassioned war against this nation’s original sin. hands washed in...

by Hunter Hodkinson He buries his wounded fangs deep into my chest and with a hesitant yank rips my still beating heart from me. I bleed...

by William Ingogly At the hard line where the trees begin one darkness opens into another. The memory of fire illumines the underbrush...

by Janice L. Freytag I watch the sparrows so many this year play in the lady’s thumb weeds, flitting up to land on the pink florets,...

by Paul Ilechko Curled and crumbled in upon as bee stung as lips turning from yellow beneath the variegated purples that still hold...

by Larry Pike Security camera footage remained unclear despite the techs’ attempts to enhance it. Did Eve hesitate before she relented...

by Janice L. Freytag Maybe birds have their own tales of where they come from, made in the image of the Holy Hoverer who brooded and...