From this Issue
Poem
From the magazine:Matins
Matins
In the fog are streetlights I confuse with moons,
but soon the puddles from last night’s rain
flame an instant, stare into themselves.
Across the street, the trashmen look
almost stately on the curb, examining
the crippled lawn chair. Without sleep all night
I’ve lain for...
but soon the puddles from last night’s rain
flame an instant, stare into themselves.
Across the street, the trashmen look
almost stately on the curb, examining
the crippled lawn chair. Without sleep all night
I’ve lain for...
Table of Contents
- Baron Wormser
- Kita Shantiris
- David Wojahn
- James McKean
- Sandra Alcosser
Contents
