By Lawrence Wray The first of the year begins with countless anomalies, the nearest, possibly most delicate— such as the fragrance of...

By Nora Kirkham We pull over at the field towards the church, slip under wires, clamber over crackled walls. You wade into a chamber of...

by Christine Valters Paintner The holy man wanders the forest, in search of a place he can hear pine needles drop, and seeds crack open...

by Ahrend Torrey Where do we go from here? Where do we turn? I say stay and watch the hummingbird, buzz the air. I suppose it knows where...

by Seth Jani The big fires have been burning for days. The messengers of cosmic time just touching the mountain. The doors open. The...

by Christina Lee and we have scattered it all across the kitchen table. At least a hundred pieces left, so we sit for a few minutes...

by Bruce Bond The death gods do not live here anymore. Codex after codex left the Mayan shores for the cities of Europe by whose names we...

by Christine Valters Paintner She treasures their golden gift, mixing herbs to make medicine for sisters with coughs, guests with aches,...

by Alexandra Corinth I was born underwater no legs, gills folded into my pudgy neck before the reef was scorched by the sun and the surf...

by Sheila Murray-Nellis I long for you: the snowflakes kiss my eyelids and layer white on white by my feet. How you sparkle all about me,...

by JC Reilly In the linden grove beside the stream a soft-eyed girl in weeds bends down to see a cat near death, his fur like cream and...

by David Swerdlow In this story of the hermit saint, one stoic thorn from the rose honors the responsible with blood and pain. The...

by Charles Kell A cold eel on a fish- monger’s shelf, half moon broken in the window. We were drawn to study this poorly supported art,...

by Ellen Deitz Tucker That we do not fall between the wide-spaced atoms plotting edge and surface in our world— that the world itself...

by Don Russ North CarolinaState Archaeological Site 31JK3 The heavens mapped? The spent mind of a wanderer mapped back upon his silent...

by Maggie Edwards She was old⎼so old she crusted over, and the crust smelt like decay⎼that senior home reek of fish bones and too long...

by Anna Elkins Beneath Rue d’Enfer, Paris There is no weather down here. It’s old & warm, always. The lantern light soaks into stone, the...

by J C Scharl I. It’s water does this to wood: petrifies the honeyed grain so time runs off the light-shot stone like rain, leaving...

by Jane Beal My dearest friend did not die when I was in España, despite the brain surgery – a fact worth remembering. I had felt so...

by Brandi Willis Schreiber I write to you, for the first time, after the year’s long ache. Do you remember our walk ending in ochre...