by Jason Grant The entire king-sized bed is mine now, but I can’t seem to move from the left side to the right because on the nights you were here—laying there—if I dared move from my side to yours in the middle of the night it was like I-was-crossing-some-boundary you-needed…
by Don Mager While cold’s persistence officiates, afternoon’s amnesia sweeps away the dinge of clouds. Sundown plays suites of madrigals on pianissimo recorders. Counterpoints weave off-beats at low registers. Modulations melt. Descant sherbets—treble creams—drops of lemon tenors—contra basses in their azure barkings—and dancing at the upper edges, small piquant sopranino…