--after rereading "Saying Your Name Three Times Underwater" by Sam Roxas-Chua If, After the Collapse of Africa’s last elephant, I…
On the Death of Seamus Heaney He is crossing those four green fields now. On the horizon, blossoms falling like…
Scar Willing herself steel on the tenement rooftop where the pigeons roosted and ate crumbs from her hands, near dusk…
On That Moonless Autumn Night Listening to Wallace Stevens Reading “The Idea of Order At Key West” It may be…
I am Nobody! Who are You? --to Emily Dickinson, in her own words… Recluse, they said, watching a fly buzz…
In Praise of Those Winter Sundays I thought this is a black poem and then I thought no this is…
Babette Barton is an emerging artist who lives at the edge of the woods in the uppermost reaches of the…
Tom Sexton was born in Lowell, Massachusetts, and lived in the city through his high school years. He earned degrees…
He is crossing those four green fields now. On the horizon, blossoms falling like snow. A chorus calls his name.…
--for Peter Sears (1937-2017), after Tom Sexton He does not fly over these hills or fields. Instead he crosses the quad…