A Poem by Maggie Smith

Poor Sheep

Who sheared the fog from the mountains? They’re bleating, nearly bald, huddled together at the horizon. Or I’m reading too much into the landscape again. Projecting, as if playing a recorded image of myself on the screen of terrain. I am…

A Poem by Kate Colby

Integer*

1

Wind can’t move the light only what’s in front of it.

Stirring shadow- shaped leaves

A Poem by Chaya Bhuvaneswar

Mount of the Dead Men

Sculptor left your stone eyes blank. But you were busy looking someplace else.

No dancing girl, Mohenjo Daro, terra cotta, Indian Jazz Baby, Twenties flapper contraband for bobbed hair alone.