No. 5 · Harvest Time
What Marks the Spot
The last of the summer flies buzz and spin on the window sill. Their evasion of months of cobwebs and fan blades have earned them this…
No. 5 · Harvest TimeRiver Flowing Underground
When was it when the birds were singing in Greek and the water tower changed sheaths of rust for a jacket of leaves in what had…
No. 5 · Harvest TimeView from the coast
So many snail shells in the sand suggest a desert, the graveyard it hides. Rocks grow into trees, the light echoes; a valency, whatever it might…
No. 5 · Harvest TimeThe Status Quotidian
Old photos in another language, the people look vaguely the same Separated at birth, families cling to umbilical cords of memory– powdered, thought collects in luggage…