Summer 2003 • Vol. XXV No. 3/4 PoetryJuly 1, 2003 |

Perspective with Open Door

You can walk wheat with me; My fear is like a field mouse. Put its chill, its nose far away, it wills itself into the insulation. Water seeps through the foundation blurring the blue of blueprints—Or by morning wild orchids sprout; pinecones thud to the podzol; snow clumps slide off the eaves. A scarlet finch takes flight from a thistle; pollen plumes between talon and bloom. Leaves rise, drawn upward by the charge between them and lightning. And we may Not be summoned, our permanent records yellow in some file cabinet or twisted for wicks.

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Borderlands

By Suji Kwock Kim

You can walk wheat with me; My fear is like a field mouse. Put its chill, its nose far away, it wills itself into the insulation. Water seeps through the […]

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