ISSUE: Summer 2011
1.
A lucky rain
misted
the far hills to fresco
The lawn
a sexless
and austere green
Berries
on the dripping
eaves
2.
That little church was bigger than us.
The stained-glass glowed
like dull neon.
Aftershave prickled
and twined
with leather.
“I will”—
a spark—
a small lit candle.
3.
Ten floors up, doing
as we ought:
coming-together-and-breathlessly
falling apart
and once you whispered
“husband”
as if to name
some dark, illicit pleasure.
