by Molly Peacock It's not the first time we've bitten into a peach. But now at the same time it splits——half for each. Our "t...
by Robert Hayden Sundays too my father got up early and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold， then with cracked hands that ached from labor in the...
by Larry Levis There are places where the eye can starve， But not here. Here， for example， is The Piazza Navona， & here is his narrow room Overloo...
by Martha Zweig The cold orange hands of the salamanders still wrap and unwrap the baby he dreams he was then long before there was any human family. ...
by Jane Hirshfield This was once a love poem， before its haunches thickened， its breath grew short， before it found itself sitting， perplexed and a li...
by Charles Simic If you didn't see the six-legged dog， It doesn't matter. We did， and he mostly lay in the corner. As for the extra legs， One ...
by Charles Simic Enter without knocking， hard-working ant. I'm just sitting here mulling over What to do this dark， overcast day？ It was a night o...
by John Keats This living hand， now warm and capable Of earnest grasping， would， if it were cold And in the icy silence of the tomb， So haunt thy days...
by Pattiann Rogers Elf owl， cactus wren， fruit flies incubating In the only womb they'll ever recognize. Shadow for the sand rat， spines And barba...
by David Wagoner Come at it carefully， don't trust it， that isn't its right name， It's wearing stolen rags， it's never been washed， it...