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By Chen Chen
My friend’s new neighbors in the suburbs
are planting a neat row of roses
between her house & theirs.
By Ross Gay
Tumbling through the
city in my
mind without once
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