Jane Craven
“Here the poet sings to ‘the congress of spotted turtles on a log,’ while ‘cats track sunbeams around the house’ and somewhere above us ‘the swirling eye of August, silent at its center, / contains whole flocks of birds.’ Magical things happen in this book. The poet shows us how to find beauty where we least expect it, in the quotidian, in the overlooked, in our own days.“
Ilya Kaminsky
Barn
Night calls and swallows fly
from every crevice
of the boarded-up world.
Here is where sorrow hung
from the rafters among the cured
leaves that settled
like the thinnest suede
in our palms.
Here baying dogs echoed
through the rampant fields
human scent drowned
by brightleaf, briefly.
Scrape the mud from your boots
and press a weary ear
to my Victorian breast.
Close your eyes. Even now
there are lights in the river.
$17 – ISBN 978-0-9845740-4-9