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After the Squall – Elise Paschen

In need of air, she unhinged every
window, revolving ones downstairs,
upstairs skylights, mid-floor French doors,
swept into the house the salt-brine,
the cricket chirp, the osprey whistle,

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The January Bee – Paula Meehan

 

who comes to the winter-flowering shrub,
grief in his empty pouches, who sups
alone in the stilled garden this dusk:

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Glow – Ron Padgett

When I wake up earlier than you and you
are turned to face me, face
on the pillow and hair spread around,
I take a chance and stare at you,

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Second Servant, King Lear, Act III, Scene VII – Zana Previti

I have cultivated enemies to practice
compassion but it has tried me
past my limit. I have barely learned

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