Flight by Christian Wiman — In the end we love the line love cannot cross. In the end we fall for what we fail. Forget

“Grammar is a piano I play by ear, since I seem to have been out of school the year the rules were mentioned.” Joan Didion

The Price of History Jeffrey McDaniel You’re at a bus stop, wool hat tugged down. Slush sprays up from the trees of a bus wheezing

In a Country — My love and I are inventing a country, which we can already see taking shape, as if wheels were passing through

Pelicans in December (J. Allyn Rosser) One can’t help admiring their rickety grace and old-world feathers like seasoned boardwalk planks. They pass in silent pairs,

Some Days — Poem by Billy Collins Some days I put the people in their places at the table, bend their legs at the knees,

Let Evening Come (Jane Kenyon) Let the light of late afternoon shine through chinks in the barn, moving up the bales as the sun moves

Ancient Script – Robert Morgan The crows in fields of snowy drifts resemble black cuneiform, perhaps a poem from the time of Sumer or Akkad,

Man and Derailment — When the man took his son down the ravine to view, along the opposite bank, the pileup of a passenger train,