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Poetry 7.3

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Poetry, Vol. 7.3, Sept. 2013 I brush the hint from my sleeve in your honor, as true as a hart-hound...
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Poetry, Vol. 7.3, Sept. 2013 We rolled under cadmium light – filtered red slopes of pavement and mountain air waving...
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Poetry, Vol. 7.3, Sept. 2013 for Ben You return to Minnesota with new glasses—slightly thicker frames and no accent. We...
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Poetry, Vol. 7.3, Sept. 2013 There is a distance from us to the cut bank, but the warmth, or absence...
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Poetry, Vol. 7.3, Sept. 2013 This moment, as the Gulf whittles more grains from the coast, as orange light, which...
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Poetry, Vol. 7.3, Sept. 2013 for Xavier Robinson These are fingers that cannot feel ink on the book’s page, pressed,...
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Poetry, Vol. 7.3, Sept. 2013 Mother did something to herself in this house after her mother died and I do...
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Poetry, Vol. 7.3, Sept. 2013 But the men would not listen to him. So the man took his concubine and...
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Poetry, Vol. 7.3, Sept. 2013 my hands, rough and ruby-wrought, the nails chipped and ragged can still grapple with your...
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Poetry, Vol. 7.3, Sept. 2013 I’m scouring a little cylinder of air, turning the doorknob of a body that gives...
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