Robert VanderMolen
Dry snow, the pines scaly As deer parade single file As if on duty, declining The ridge without effort
from the book Skin / Milkweed Editions
Shane McCrae
No fog         no smoke         but the light hangs on the air Like fog         like smoke         I'm walking to the bakery
Charity Ketz
The boy at the plow knows the word                     that opens through all its frame, the seed                     now left and lodged in broken rows of old success gone lovely—
Fady Joudah
Stars hang on a rim, their pulsating shudder’s an echinoderm growing back its limbs in the abyssal depths . . .
Reginald Gibbons
It’s dark when we arrive at the doorway where I spoke my long-ago goodbye as the rooster was singing one of his epics. The door’s locked. I call out and there’s no answer.

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