for Kate
by Gary Lawless today the blueberries taste like pine. I look across the field, to the cemetery, see horses, running, prayer flags in the breeze.
Beech Hill
by Gary Lawless i blue below our feet blue field field full of berries blue bay below clouds, crows, wood lily under blue sky, on our way to
Gore Pour
by Jack Collom nosebleed sonnet Gore Pour The nose . . . when I was young I used to be A picker. “Blow that mess!” Investigate That obstacle.