Issue Thirty-Six - Summer 2020


By Quinn Bailey

Tonight the wind will not let
The trees sleep.

Branches to the ground,
The few squat evergreens
Sway through the meadow

In their heavy dresses
Like old women so
Familiar with mischief.

Is it so hard to trust
The lessons of loss?
The waning moon asks,

Her shy light teasing
The bent shadows into
Stark relief on the snow.

The skeletons of Lynx
And Snowshoe Hare,

But for size, tooth
And claw,

Dance across
The stark mounds
And across time,


We become what sustains us,
We become what we run from.

I think I too will be up all night.

Copyright Bailey 2020