Jena Schwartz: Day 209
God pulls into a run-down motel and pays in cash. God wears a mask and walks slowly down the hallway and the one light bulb is flickering as he turns the key in the door.
Robert Gibb: Angels in Homestead
Pale, sentinel, their stone wings
Open behind them, they stood about
As though the afterlife meant
To impress itself upon us
Stephen Muecke: What Aboriginal people know about the pathways of knowledge
What can living in one place for 60,000 years teach a people?
John Samuel Tieman: Lauds
the Templar strolled the cloister
after the dawn office
the sky was a sort of orange
like he had seen in the East
BJ Ward: First Thanksgiving
A chair was never emptier
than on the first Thanksgiving
after my father died.
Jeffrey Harrison: The Light in the Marsh Grass
we gave up trying to explain it, gave ourselves
to it—as if we had ingested some hallucinogen
that opened our eyes to what was there all along
W.S. Merwin: Another River
he arrived just as
an evening was beginning and toward the end
of summer when the converging surface
lay as a single vast mirror gazing
upward into the pearl light