I think of the children who will never know, intuitively, that a flower is a plant’s way of making love, or what silence sounds like, or that trees breathe out what we breathe in.
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By Ellen Bass • January 2018
Tonight, as you undress, I watch your wondrous flesh that’s swelled again, the way a river swells when the ice relents. Sweet relief
By David Hernandez • July 2015
We the people, we the one times 320 million, I’m rounding up, there are really too many grass blades to count,
By Tony Hoagland • August 2017
Of course there is a time of afternoon, out there in the yard, an hour that has never been described.
By Brionne Janae • June 2018
to the curve in my spine, the lopsided shoulder, the vertebrae’s dance, praise to the knuckle & crease of my toes, to my narrow feet & resilient soles, praise
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