Current Issue About Editorial Note Archives Submitting Links		Poems by Duane Ackerson   West Names The rivers out west have homespun names, calling the land down to something we can hold: Pudding Creek, Little Muddy River, Little Powder Creek. Reaching the sea, they bow their heads, barely whisper as they slip beneath the waves.     The Haunted Lighthouse A body falls on the shore. Mist rises, climbs the cliff face, the fog's staircase. Peers into the single bright light. Then shrugs itself back into a wave, into the sea. Hard to catch God's eye when it's always turning elsewhere.     Next Poem
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