Because of their format, several poems that appear in the current issue are included only in pdf. To read them, click on their titles on the right side of this page.
We’re always other people, whoever they are.
I’m grateful to poets’ biographies—a genre nearly as
Obsolete as its subjects—for helping me make myself up,
The bank of cloud that night was like a smoother
lamb’s wool, a fistful you’d pull to stuff
a pointe shoe for ballet class. Or maybe the cloud
bank was more like the tiny cotton coverlet
A white jar dissolves into the whitish background
that gently presses its narrow form upright. Morandi’s
ceramics must be manna for the eye, I think. Here,
their proximity makes several forms seem melded—
