by Russell Rowland Sketchy is the restroomin this ramshackle arcade—almosta closet, dark—still, she has to go.Granddaughter, eight, insistsGrampy accompany her. I do— softened at her own wayof being those years young, her faiththat an elder man, retired,unremarkable, divorced, can causethe world to seem a safer place. Once we’re both inside,…
by Don Morgan The ghost of night shades the waterfront, cliffs and his hasty footprints in the sand. Painted flowers and her tears flow back to the sea.
by Don G. Morgan I see the grandeur of the snow covered winter trees, and the lake. A cloud dark sky, the moon, the center of a filigree of light gleaming in the snow, reflected on the lake’s white frost. And above that a cathedral of towering pillars, mushrooms…