by David Capps

… hair that had never been stroked, bookmarks that had never lost their place to another, pages that had never yellowed

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by Hannah Behrens

his claws clutch the strings of a white mandolin,
toned with the same hollow ghostliness
of his body.

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by Gary Fox

The lines are a net
catching the clouds like fish

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by Hugh Findlay

into the bright square
before the Eiffel,
splayed above her
like a crown.

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by Spencer Keene

O, you metal God;
you reptilian warrior!

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by Elly Katz

fluttering like an intimate thrush
you hold to face, to deface in equal measure,

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by Leah Wu

her triumphant wings spread
to catch the fallen

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by Bob Bradshaw

Who would have thought
a simple woman
from Paterson
would live out her life
in the Musée
d’Orsay?

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by Dale Going

like a fan in a hand flourished
still so essentially flat

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by Dale Going

I wanted test tubes
corks the porcelain parts
of dolls

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by Jonathan Memmert

one heart that pumps
one heart that revives

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by Jolie Lisenby

gripping the ruins of their hearts
with heads bent down in defeat.
Their eyes, black with tears,

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