by Carol Casey The August sun has almost spun the straw to gold in the large stack behind the barn. We take turns sliding down its side, whooping in the earthy smell, the scratchy stalks tickling. Not sure why I go down backward, push off so hard. I land with a thump on almost…
by John P. Kristofco in autumn clouds above the church, twenty, maybe thirty geese align like praying hands, aimed at something promised by the wisdom of their hollow bones, agate eyes acknowledging the sun; they sweep above our sanctuaries, sidewalks, all the places where we leave our lives behind, in…
by Scott Patterson I am the hanging tree, with a thirst for saltwater windswept but strong no shade from the sun I command the sky above the sea but not your twisted path here among the weeds. I am the hanging tree, supported by century old roots Black-burgundy birds remembering…
by Gonzalinho da Costa For Father Pat Giordano, SJ The moon abides invisibly in a day painted white. At my shoulder a dark green shadow is floating, the sea. Breakers rush toward shore, roaring lions inside a wind tunnel. Peering within myself, I see bottomless water. Stillness enters the space…