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By Kim Roberts
Wheels, whisks, wishbones,
silhouette of a tiny pine.
Birds in flight and fiddlehead ferns.
By Yvette Neisser Moreno
So this is how they decided to take him—
at the end of his life,
his frame shrunken, his wild rambling days over
By Patricia Monaghan
After the nightly news and four martinis
he quietly begins to draw the inner workings
of the bomb, knowing the explosion needed
By Patricia Spears Jones
And I am full of worry I wrote to a friend
Worry, she replied about what—love, money, health?
All of them, I wrote back. It’s autumn, the air is clear
By Tiffany Higgins
I shall build a city upon a hill
and upon a hill and upon a hill and upon a hill
I am a little shepherd piping low
By Jeff Gundy
A good day for late wildflowers--daisies and burrs
leaned out into the path for a better view, brilliant
blue somethings with tiny blooms on tall stalks.
By Heather Davis
The lights in your home channel 29 men, their
soot stained clothes, last breaths, crystalline sweat
let loose on black rock
By Gregory Pardlo
Unfinished, the road turns off the fill
from the gulf coast, tracing the bay, to follow
the inland waterway.
By Camille T. Dungy
Pause here at the flower stand-mums
and gladiolas, purple carnations
dark as my heart.
By Jody Bolz
Pages flit above the ruined bookstalls.
Blank or dark with words, it doesn’t matter:
paper is as dangerous as ink—as thought.