Volume 56, No. 3

. . . they buried the weapons of war, for peace. Alma 24:19 bury seeds these      with covenant gritshrill songs on our lips      as we circle the pit clank seeds clanging      as we cry-file bybeg,…

Down the streettrusties from the state hospitalfollowing the horizon of their noon shadows,their feet scooping up the sidewalk,the fastest as slow as the slowest.The sun is on them and pitiless.If we, shaded neighborson the other…

It’s turning fall in this long alley of young trees,poplar leaves still and golding in deep shade.You see no one and hear not even birds. But the pale trunks together seem to humlike choir rows,…

Closed to drift most of the year,trails descend through short lives of wildflowersbright in colonies, August air verging on frost,its thin metallic edge:snow squalls visible aheadwhere a continent divides.Life stays steep. Nothing in the view…

when birds disappear taking strips of light      folded in feathersnight insects ready themselves      for meals from leaves of rose and raspberrythe hollow by the lane      pools with evening like waterno moonrise cool radiance      but night…

Some nights here there’ve been singings      the children out into twilight . . . their countings,their hidings, their      ally ally oxen frees.And sometimes the crickets were not sounding bereft      but offered impressions you needed to hear. Now in…

with gratitude to Adam S. Miller and Ryan W. Quinn in the beginning, Godgave grace awayfast and free to all this is what we call creationwhich was actually continuationand still continues every day, every hour,…