Poetry:

...Black holes, tomatoes by day, climb cactus spines, a ladder to the stars...

...Perfect flat circles I smooth with my hands and try not to smudge, they are the shadows I finally hold, the deep pitch of dark places I can bring to the surface and pass under light...

...At their feet, small animals rustle, the wind in their teeth...

...They become the smooth vowels among the sharp things on my table and make room for a meal instead of food-on-the-run in this wild roulette of a thousand old hungers...

...Deborah Pierce In Arooslook Seen as it first is, through the dark frames of trees which shelter the unheated camps, it's a grand sight, the sun's reflection down at the lake's east end fine mornings, the thousands of platinum fragments floating securely, without a suggestion they'll vanish as soon as the sun leaves - blazing like feathers of a home-grown Icarus who, weary of rain and sweaters and swimming in the cold and staying inside and never once getting his fill of the sun, naturally might, with his brand-new wings, have eagerly mounted up over the lake, watching it shrink among its trees to become just another blue dot in the forest, before he plummeted out of his future into the welcoming water...

...Vines coil, ready to strike com shadows, broccoli, armored heads of lettuce...

...Deep in the day of the moon, the garden simmers with resentment...

...I dream earth's plates shift beneath this rocky ground, pull me toward a reed flute's whine, a drum that beats the moon, the Sierra Tarahumaras rising in the morning light...

...Nothing is what it seems...

...Betrayed by this brightness, roosters crow, dogs howl and birds call the names of the dead...

...rising in the morning light...

...Judith Root Good Friday Barranca del Cobre Intense as a yolk, a pupil, any true center, the full moon stares down the canyon walls, then turns on mesquite blossoms that stud the water's surface...

...Again and again they come from the cupboard in a round of Good-days and Good-nights...