By Keith Burton i was stretching my legs on the littoralgiving names to the shapes of the cloudsthat swam across the lake’s reflectionwhen trouble came crawling on eight legs. help me across he asked with a period. i knew better; i had an owl’s acuity.no can do, i know you…
by Cynthia Good Then it sparked into flame, Christmas in the fire pit, a burst three times the size when it stood in the den festooned in bows, the Fraser Fir— a shooting spiral of tangerine light. What should we burn next? you ask. Let’s burn…
by Cynthia Good So long cell tower dish sneaking inthe bedroom window, so longto saying thank you to taxi doorsheld open to slide across sticky seats.So long to dragging our bodies into roomswhere we don’t want to go, into argumentsthat aren’t our own. So long to tryingnot to wake the…