Issue 1: Paulann Petersen

Since Most Stars Are Strangers

Let a white hoop

            be the horizon.

Let fir trees

            wimple and gleam.

Let wind set up a tremor

            it never abandons.

Seven left eyes

            of seven crows

wheel in a hubbub

            of dark jabber.

Wings overtake the day.

Let an elk take the sun

            away on its antlers.

            But only for a while.

Let the coat of a fox redden berries

            again, come summer.

Hope is that star whose place

            your eye can fix.

            You know it by name.

The largest room where you live

            calls itself sky.

--Paulann Petersen




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