Ohio Fields After Rain by David Baker

Ohio Fields After Rainby David Baker The slow humped backs of ice ceasedto shadow the savannahs of Ohio millenniaago, right where we’ve sailed to a stop.The shaken woman leaves open her car doorand familiar as relatives we touch handsin the middle of the wet black road.To the north new corn enriches by the hour. SouthContinue reading “Ohio Fields After Rain by David Baker”

The Late Wisconsin Spring by John Koethe

The Late Wisconsin Spring by John Koethe Snow melts into the earth and a gentle breezeLoosens the damp gum wrappers, the stale leavesLeft over from autumn, and the dead brown grass.The sky shakes itself out. And the invisible birdsWinter put away somewhere return, the air relaxes,People start to circulate again in twos and threes.The dominant feelingsContinue reading “The Late Wisconsin Spring by John Koethe”

When in Wisconsin Where I Once Had Time by John Engels

When in Wisconsin Where I Once Had Timeby John Engels When in Wisconsin where I once had timethe flyway swans came whistlingto the rotten Green Bay ice and stayed,not feeding, four days, maybe five, I shouted and threw stones to see them fly.Blue herons followed, or came first.I shot a bittern’s wing off with myContinue reading “When in Wisconsin Where I Once Had Time by John Engels”

Rune of the Finland Woman by Marilyn Hacker

Rune of the Finland Womanby Marilyn Hacker     For Sára Karig       “You are so wise,” the reindeer said, “you can bind the winds of the world in a single strand.” H. C. Andersen, “The Snow Queen” She could bind the world’s winds in a single strand.She could find the world’s words in a singing wind.She could lendContinue reading “Rune of the Finland Woman by Marilyn Hacker”

[London, my beautiful] by F.S. Flint

[London, my beautiful]by F.S. Flint London, my beautiful,it is not the sunsetnor the pale green skyshimmering through the curtainof the silver birch,nor the quietness;it is not the hoppingof birdsupon the lawn,nor the darknessstealing over all thingsthat moves me. But as the moon creeps slowlyover the treetopsamong the stars,I think of herand the glow her passingshedsContinue reading “[London, my beautiful] by F.S. Flint”

California Hills in August by Dana Gioia

California Hills in August by Dana Gioia I can imagine someone who found these fields unbearable, who climbed the hillside in the heat, cursing the dust, cracking the brittle weeds underfoot, wishing a few more trees for shade. An Easterner especially, who would scorn the meagerness of summer, the dry twisted shapes of black elm,Continue reading “California Hills in August by Dana Gioia”

Driving in Oklahoma by Carter Revard

Driving in Oklahoma by Carter Revard On humming rubber along this white concrete, lighthearted between the gravities of source and destination like a man halfway to the moon in this bubble of tuneless whistling at seventy miles an hour from the windvents, over prairie swells rising and falling, over the quick offramp that drops toContinue reading “Driving in Oklahoma by Carter Revard”

Arizona Desert by Charles Tomlinson

Arizona Desert by Charles Tomlinson Eye drinks the dry orange ground, the cowskull bound to it by shade: sun-warped, the layers of flaked and broken bone unclench into petals, into eyelids of limestone: Blind glitter that sees spaces and steppes expand of the purgatories possible to us and impossible. Upended trees in the Hopi’s desertContinue reading “Arizona Desert by Charles Tomlinson”

Psalm Above Santa Fe by John Judson

Psalm Above Santa Fe                         16 March 1987 by John Judson What is it we           come to                     between mountains, long crests tipped white,           dusted on their flanks, while                     light spreads out before us,           pouring in our laps,                     soft as iris tongues, and           the lungs finally                     filled with a freshness unwilled           because unlooked for:                     sparse grass, rocksContinue reading “Psalm Above Santa Fe by John Judson”

Mexico Seen from the Moving Car by Michael McClure

Mexico Seen from the Moving Car by Michael McClure THERE ARE HILLS LIKE SHARKFINS                              and clods of mud. The mind drifts through in the shape of a museum, in the guise of a museum dreaming dead friends: Jim, Tom, Emmet, Bill. —Like billboards their huge faces droop and stretch on the walls, on the wallsContinue reading “Mexico Seen from the Moving Car by Michael McClure”