From this Issue
Poem
The wind rests its cheek upon the ground and feels the cool damp
And lifts its head with twigs and small dead blades of grass
Pressed into it as you might at the beach rise up and brush away
The sand. The day...
And lifts its head with twigs and small dead blades of grass
Pressed into it as you might at the beach rise up and brush away
The sand. The day...
Table of Contents
- James Schuyler
- Steven Orlen
- Fanny Howe
- Paul Nemser
- Mark Rudman
- Vern Rutsala
- John N. Morris
- John Hollander
Comment
- Thomas Shapcott
- John Richard Reed
CONTRIBUTORS
