by Stephen Sandy Hard to believe the racket geese make， squabbling，holding a confab in the dark——pitch dark to him padding back to check t...
by Robinson Jeffers Here is a symbol in which Many high tragic thoughts Watch their own eyes. This gray rock， standing tall On the headland， where the...
by David Lee When granite and sandstone begin to blur and flow， the eye rests on cool white aspen. Strange， their seeming transparency. How as in a su...
by Federico García Lorca （Translated by William Logan） Green， how I want you green. Green wind. Green branches. The ship out on the sea and the...
by Yves Bonnefoy Translated by Hoyt Rogers Passerby， these are words. But instead of reading I want you to listen： to this frail Voice like that of le...
by John Balaban At dusk， by the irrigation ditch gurgling past backyards near the highway，locusts raise a maze of calls in cottonwoods. A Spanish girl...
by Patricia Young It's so quiet now the children have decided to stop being born. We raise our cups in an empty room. In this light， the curtains ...
by Mary Rose O'Reilley "Art is what remains when the pot is broken."—Chinese proverb I know we are bound to the earth，and the crac...
by Paul Celan （Translated by Heather McHugh and Nikolai Popov） O little root of a dream you hold me here undermined by blood， no longer visible to any...
by David Baker Yesterday a little girl got slapped to death by her daddy， out of work， alcoholic， and estranged two towns down river. America， it'...