Michael Simms: The Ruins
the air full
of transparent wings,
the fox crossing
the innocent road
full of weeds
Emily Dickinson: The Color of the Grave is Green
The Color of the Grave is Green
The Outer Grave—I mean—
You would not know it from the Field—
Except it own a Stone—
David Kirby: Broken Promises
I have met them in dark alleys, limping and one-armed;
I have seen them playing cards under a single light-bulb
and tried to join in, but they refused me rudely
Kate Daniels: The Poem
Niobe had just lost her son.
To help herself, she read a poem
to those assembled in the funeral home
Gary Fincke: Headcheese, Liverwurst, a List of Loaves
Our refrigerator
Opened to liverwurst,
Headcheese, a list of loaves:
Luncheon and Luxury
Sandy Solomon: Metaphoric
Like leaves to sun, people in the room turned
toward her when she appeared at the door—
plain as metaphor—beaming.