by Floyd Skloot
When others claimed to hear
Satan’s heartbeat in his sweet
tremolo, she remembered ebony
for Niccolo’s fingerboard landing
like grace around her. It gleamed
with the Lord’s truant light.
by Paul Zimmer
National Endowment for the Arts is bored,
Sits by its bone in the yard and moans,
Rises to see if someone is at the window,
Hears nothing, sighs deeply,
Sits down again in the hole it has dug.
by Reg Saner
Our first forest may not have been the one in a mother’s voice reading “Hansel and Gretel.” Perhaps instead it was grown-ups seen from below, ones we literally clung to, looked up toward. Because infants begin on all fours among legs thick as tree trunks, subsequent forests, however trackless, may rise out of those.
by Vanessa Haley
I don’t know how it got started, collecting insects
as a child, perhaps, and keeping them in jars
on my shelves: a giant water bug from a boyhood
tranquil pond; the cicada that kept me awake
the summer I was ten, with its incessant song . . .
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