The theme of this issue is “reflection” which, in...

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Motion is everything, isn’t it? This morning, high up on...

This is what you remember . . . A campfire by the river, flames...

My guitar and I share DNA. Behind its strings sometimes, some...

From the golden hours of spring heating into summer, we seek...

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Take off your shoes — midnight’s thirst slaked by cup, by storm...

Tepid dawn could not foretell this air as thick as water, this...

Our moms took us to Pay Less opening week, Mrs. O’Regan pulling...

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And now you leave again. Your visits like seasons that come and...

Anoche cuando dormía soñé ¡bendita ilusión! Antonio Machado The...

I lay down in the desert and sprouted an oasis. It was a...

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During a concert in San Francisco in 1951, a baby is born and...

Water plunges down the orange crags toward tops of pines...

The odd thing about seeing your reflection, of course, is that...

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Make Your Leaving Slow I memorized the bee–loud glade,   I...

For Brig from high school I no longer remember the Gregorian...

Forgive me if I bristle as shadows climb the walls, and voices...

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Down the dim halls of the seminary, I followed my friend....

I let go of my son the way an ocean gives up a whole sand...

Wandawoowoo’s mom often told her: I’ll have no nonsense from...

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I call her Snow. He brings her over to me in bed. She is the...