by Sarah Rosenblatt
I had traveled with it for years,
then
I put it down,
wrote something personal
by Sarah Rosenblatt
I had traveled with it for years,
then
I put it down,
wrote something personal
by Sumit Parikh
Above snowy mist and pasture
a crescent fades
manes bow in the dark ahead
and a breeze gently grazes gravel
by Michael Shoemaker
I do not dream when I sleep
and this is where
elucidations begin.
by Chris Wardle
We’re back now
to GMT’s bleak Wintering,
breeding gratitude,
and an attitude for slow abundance,
within the assumed privilege
of doubly-blessed glazing
and insulated walls, isolating.
by Brenda Mox
Haunted by arboreal ghosts
emerging from the forests womb
the solitary wanderer staggered along,
shaggy like a crow, with eyes wide open.
by Eva Skrande
When the hush of the old town moves up the stems
of chrysanthemums,
the petals turn into small fires,
by Jeffrey Zable
Read More »is my 97-year-old neighbor who lives two houses up, and continues
to amaze me …
by Michael Roque
A tree in itself breathes-
From the roots,
swallows rain from the sky.
Blooms flowers and fruit,
and in a billion crevices fosters life-
nests with birds, hives of hornets,
ants chewing-
thirty to a single leaf.