GALLERY 12
Featuring the Photos of Misha Gordin
weighs
like a strideless sawhorse--
dressing for the center
of a semi-formless stage
rain grows strange blossoms
voiceless
they nod their heads
in tutored unison
where the essence
of gray light
scrapes the steps
of life
-- Janie Hubbell
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Hello lost poem?
by Andrea Nash
I only remember your echo
"all night long they are bent
with weeping and rain
cleaning the staircase of our imagination
as we sleep"
but maybe that's all there was to you
some have such small quiet voices.
did anyone find her wandering out among the pines?
did she have more to say or had she become
quiet in only the way that collections of words can?
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