To the Fig Tree on 9th and Christian

By Ross Gay Tumbling through the
city in my
mind without once
looking up

History

By Juan Carlos Galeano In the north we hunted many buffalo
whose lard warmed us all winter.

But in the jungle they told us that to bring more light

By Linda Hogan We had been together so very long,
you willing to swim with me
just last month, myself merely small

By Homero Aridjis A temple not in the temple
A temple apart from its form
A temple older than the stones

By Gretchen Primack and there was a dog, precisely the colors of autumn,
asleep between two trunks by the trail.
But it was a coyote, paws pink

By Venus Thrash Deep in the heart of the Garden of Eden,
past the Euphrates & Tigris riverbanks,
the marsh grass, reed beds, bulrushes,

By Joy Harjo This city is made of stone, of blood, and fish.
There are Chugatch Mountains to the east
and whale and seal to the west.

By Brenda Cárdenas This body always compost--
hair a plot of thin green stems
snowing a shroud of petals,

By Carlos Parada Ayala Los argonautas se albergaron
en la oscuridad de mis zapatos
y un dragón azul acudió

By Gretchen Primack This is the press of the earth. One star hanging
there, honking like a goose. The lake
a smudge of black juice, the hill a draped