Current Issue About Editorial Note Archives Submitting Links		Lynn Strongin   If we speak a river language, Are we in danger of drowning? From New York & Holland Aren't we used to street noise? Yet there are those into burying the hatchet in the other's back Fog banks rolling, Kathryn, A light boat An amiable dragon         The whiskey circulating         The candelabrum.   Your last days on earth come to me A forest of birch trees walking We are now orphans: cloven. I whip speech Small oxen.   Peasant Under Glassfall at last Fall at last: Foliage glaze Orgasm's blaze      first time In a decade Next Poem
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