Category Archives: The Wilderness/ The City

Venus sinks in the west: citrine snagged on twine as it follows the sun.   Green glass insulators separating long-dead wires on the old telephone pole   catch day’s last light, and a crow hovers,

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He fell in love the first day he saw her. She entranced him with her natural beauty. She was only in a friends’ picture, but from that moment on she was always in his dreams.

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I keep bees. For the most part beekeeping is relatively hands-off—the bees go about on their tiny day-to-day missions of glory and adventure, and I stand at a respectful distance and watch them. Occasionally, however,

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They drew a tree behind him a purple tree It bloomed each time I passed his bronze bust and a poem beneath it a thousand Sunday bicycles wheeling by Roberta Gould  lives in the Hudson

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Cottonwood spins like a dervish in this lonely road.   Cinched tunic, the white funnel skirt takes spherical   flight, a twister grounded only by dancing feet, by seed in the breeze. Kersten Christianson is

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Eating the fruit flipped a switch for Adam and Eve— a bite and then eyes wide open.   Not so for Eden.  For a long while edges stayed neat, shapes trim, grass even, and bushes

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From the Night’s Window Bee balm & forget-me-nots, lupine cluster bloom by north’s long sun Thin, white cuticle of shape shifting moon won’t be viewed from this June mountain of birch trees and burls crinkled

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“Ted, are you in there? Are you alright?” It was Dennis, his father. “Yeah, Dad. Just a minute.” Ted took a quick look in the mirror over the dresser but barely recognized the visage staring

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Signs Did I miss the mile markers? The signs? Dead lilac bush in spring, raspberry canes stripped of verdancy, their fat digit fruits a memory from summer past. Moss-tangled flower beds, the wild Yukon rose

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Oh — what did he say, Tamari? Did he ask why every new building cuts his work in half? Did he ask why the roads are black and hard? Did he ask why the birds

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