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David Weiss


This Sweet Thing

One windless day in June a maple leaf left its fold and sank three prongs into my grandfather's skull. They went in easily. He was then already eight years in the grave. He got up, it was his backyard. I could tell he was confused. He said, give me [...]

Canoeing on the Loxahatchee

Mullet flick and, leaping, swim the air. My paddle's slap sends turtles deep for the safe, murky feel. I pull the river by, its silence a reptile's stare while the sky's a great egret—all talon, glare. An osprey breaks its glide and dives to seize [...]