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.
by Elly Katz
fluttering like an intimate thrush
you hold to face, to deface in equal measure,
by Bob Bradshaw
Who would have thought
a simple woman
from Paterson
would live out her life
in the Musée
d’Orsay?
by Jolie Lisenby
gripping the ruins of their hearts
with heads bent down in defeat.
Their eyes, black with tears,