stillness
the rising mist
in my whispers
Pat Davis
The taste of sloe gin
underneath the blackthorn boughs—
a
blossom-veiled moon.
Pippa Phillips
Poppy Seeds
swearing
right hands raised ...
lone veteran salutes
packing bags
called again
peace and war
silently
walking
arlington cemetery
— old rose garden
B.A. France
used-book store
its dusty true-crime section
covered with fingerprints
John J. Dunphy