by Max Hjortsberg

When you walk through the door of the past
be careful not to close it, leave it slightly cracked,
allowing the light of the present
to cut through the darkness,
one of Ariadne’s lesser–known tricks
for finding your way back.

Like a dream
the past is a place dark around the edges.
You’ll still notice the wind in the trees,
hear birdsong and not know what bird is singing,
and find yourself in the end sitting in the kitchen
letting the daylight fade without turning on the lights.

by Max Hjortsberg

Cottonwoods lining the edge of the river
the leafless branches white with hoarfrost,
a phantom coral reef
from a vanished inland sea.

The world was calm and bright
and we walked without talking.

by Robert VanderMolen

There was talk of fishing, cancer
And the stock exchange. The trick
Said Denny, is to be a contrarian,
Not many have such self–control.
I moved toward the new widow, halfway
Across and was intercepted by Chrissie,
In jeans, just returned from Prague,
Who whispered, this is like a Fellini flick.
My wife pointed at her watch

*

Others arrived, loosening
Their clothes like theatre–goers
In from the cold. Hankies and small purses
You old trout, said Denny, pink–faced.
Doug winked without moving his mouth.
Doubles for everyone, Denny instructed,
Winging around to locate the barmaid
In her German peasant outfit, lingering
Behind the bar to finish her drink.
Denny, I said, help me push some tables
Together . . .
Let’s try to be helpful, said his wife June
Tugging on his sleeve like an orphan

by Robert VanderMolen

Shaving:
If I had a thinner face
Like D. H. Lawrence
Or Robert Creeley
I’d grow a beard (I told her)

*

There were odd sounds I heard
Emanating from the dog
Lying next to the wall —
When I pried her mouth loose
A warbler flew out

*

The yellows of winter sunsets
Over water, sliding into peach

*

Trash stuck in hedges
Like old carnations