by Heather Kaufmann Manning Provincial Park, BC, July 2021 Luke 3:7-17 Dust billows at our every step our finger pads and nostrils ...

by Ryan Keating A dance in medias res Our hands and feet together Cast identical shadows Of union and uniqueness In overlapping circles...

by Johanna Caton The buck stood at the border of dark forest and meadow, looking toward the open space. Even a prodigy of evil big as a...

by Susan Francino Rather weighed down by tone-deaf singing, the record of my own dead prayer, I emerge from the church —first to leave,...

by Ken Meisel When the dream awakens & the sleeping coma is no longer present, the self finds an awakening – its love revelation – in the...

by Laurie Klein Overnight, new toadstools shoulder through sodden grass the way sorrows emerge, one after another. Traveler, in a season...

by Violeta Garcia-Mendoza Praise the sirenwail, the barking that accompanies the fire whistle, that whips itself into howling for its own...

by Jenna K Funkhouser I. this is the night we walk backwards into blindness into silence this is the daybreak we bear unrecognized...

by Daniel Rattelle Fishing-drunk in the Connecticut and no miraculous catch, you row for home. What short thrusts from stern to bow you...

by Laurie Klein In God’s backyard, roosting birds reawaken the old throes interred within us—personal heartland, tangled as any natural...

by Andrew J. Calis Greens and blues, the yellow light turns red spreading itself across the floor of the chapel. And warms through the...

by Mary Redman For N.M You were fourteen and sullen that day I picked you up from cross country practice. We bickered, and I couldn’t...

by Susan Francino I didn’t ask the caterpillar with its antennae tangled criss-cross in a cobweb if it wanted to be healed, but when I...

by Jenna K Funkhouser Wind ripples off the shaggy tops of mesquite trees and threads a ribbon of bending grass. The ground is stern and...

by Laura Klein . . . a long obedience in the same direction . . . —Friedrich Nietzche From the get go, two habitual waders rise—the...

by Violeta Garcia-Mendoza Maybe borage, rock rose; maybe wild carrot, gorse. In retrospect, daisy, poppy, marigold. Some miscalculation...

by Joshua Jones I heard you call my name. The wire of your voice pulled tight through the hallway. Expecting to find you marooned on the...

by Mary Redman (after Spring and Fall by Gerard Manley Hopkins) We entered Yellowstone, and you gaped at charred tree trunks, where acre...

By Julie L. Moore Along the Rio Grande, in Ciudad Juárez,                                                        amid the high Chihuahuan...

By Laurie Klein Hovering clouds, more sting than mist, feel akin to ice, forced through a sieve, Salmon River below us, all teem and...