Issue

The Chorus

That green expanse
Is swaying long and lush beside the creek,
And there his ball’s forgotten as the child,
Unable not to shriek,
Chases the phantoms of the wind that dance
Among the stems and seedheads and runs wild.
And wind-shaped figures seem to turn
Among those willow shadows with concern.

Hay

Wildfire

Baying at Two Moons

Heat in the Blood

Lost Overnight in the Woods

Casting Away

            for Turner Cassity

What burning force
beyond the curtain
of all that’s certain
draws us out from shore
into solution?

What glitter over
twilit water parses
hidebound human
parts to droplets
in an ocean,

our needs made
slight and slender
as the reeds we were
surrender to
redemptive motion.