by James Tate
A day which started off rather dismally
turns a sharp right and there up ahead
is the prospect of something sweet with
an officer of the law, who is now following you.
by George Looney
He believes storms hide more than stars
and wants to visit ponds in the mountains where fish,
desperate, blur the water with their bodies and the dust
they kick up. From overhead, they’re maps of the state
where his wife’s forgetting him.
by Mark Doty
I’d been traveling all day, driving north
—smaller and smaller roads, clapboard houses
startled awake by the new green around them—
when I saw three horses in a fenced field
by the narrow highway’s edge: white horses . . .
by Terry Bain
She slips her hand into one of her husband’s pants pockets and retrieves two quarters, a nickel, and a half-stick of gum; from the other pocket she pulls three balloons—one white, one yellow, and one blue—a folded and unused handkerchief, and his wedding ring, a slim gold band without markings or gems.
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