Twice First Light   New Born Horse In winter before light it's impossible to guess what I'll knock into next. A lamp in the shape of a ship goes down, its lightbulb in a short white passion. I love the frail tintinnabulations of a broken bulb so appropriate for...

In Gratitude for Talk for John and Joe The blue-grey steeples of the pines, the lake's cold oval: our perception of these shapes makes us particularly human. Like tourists living on the shore of what really matters, we can lean back and say "Those clouds are marble...

Here’s a poem by Martha Collins called “Waiting.” It begins “Waiting, one feels time/ like space, the way one speaks of a tree,/ meaning not, as here in this yard…..

Here’s a poem by Rita Dove called “Watching Last Year at Marienbad at Roger Haggerty’s House in Auburn, Alabama.” It begins “There is a corridor of light/through the pines, lint from the Spanish Moss./ 
There is the fallen sun… 

Here’s a poem by Norman Dubie called “Provence.” It begins “The knight walks along the deep brook/Nibbling at a rusted tiger-lily…

Here’s a poem by Denis Johnson called “Our Feature by the Waters.” It begins “The tide is out. The sea stinks like a sewer./ An airplane lays itself down like a hand…

Here’s a poem by David Rivard called “Double Indemnity.” It begins “All day the rain/ washes down and races…

Here’s a poem by Susan Ludvigson called “Departures.” It begins, “The dreams accumulate. / In one I see you rowing across / a wide river …”