by Karen Gookin Those nudges make more sense now, seem real and recognizable— as clear as the red-winged blackbirds following alongside...

The mist of morning shreds in streams Revealing hints of sky...

I can hold it, cup its six pounds in my hands, feel its rough, hard mass and trace the hewn path

by Ada A. Ohnezeit I look upon the Autumn scene And leaves that only yesterday were green With vividness of Summer's sheen – Now faded,...

An oak stands sentinel over this haven, Disrupting the old fence, tangled wire, Moss green posts, sunken reminders

Had I not met the souls who gather at Miriam’s Kitchen each morning for a meal, I could not have shared poems that sway like sensate trees

I am full of bewildering awakenings. I stare at the faraway collision of tree-blur where every moment vanishes. I hear a stirring.

The stippled trunk curves left, almost as thin as my wrist, its branches bowing toward the rain-matted grass.

Diamond-bright, Jupiter rides the moon’s crown, Distant harmony describing the immeasurable,

And years from now, she’ll tell herself this was a moment—a moment

your plum-rounded face and your plum- darkened pupils, soft

A summer note from our Editor!

It begins as a whisper in a lonely place high up among the bracken and the sedges, unnoticed, trivial.

By D.A. Gray Two men stand at the edge of a clearing, looking up at the night sky, cloudless and still, heavenly bodies never this...

The midsummer dawn has barely opened its dreamy eyes. One river flows peacefully between reed and pebble under the weight of a blanket...

by Paula Rodriguez A yellow goldfinch is perched atop the wall that was damaged by the last earthquake. Its minute weight adds to the...

By Birdie Marie Rodriguez Under a cordial sun he offers seaweed as ambrosia and stops at the splendor of a shell, turning its ribbed...

by Jenna K. Funkhouser I. a bird which is not quite a heron rests by the slow river and the ripples caused by little eddies around its...

Spend all you have for loveliness, Buy it and never count the cost;

By Karl Plank the remembrance of them is planted in my tongue like barbwire comes out of my mouth like the ripping of soft tissue bleeds...