Current Issue About Editorial Note Archives Submitting Links		Elizabeth Bastos Silence I first heard it in Providence but this one, it came closer it sniffed my open hand and without timidness, allowed me to put it into my ear a limp firmness, a toddler’s nap-relaxed arm, the sound, the mouth-feel of steamed milk it entered me as I enter a sanctuary smooth the water in the provided stone bowl on my head. Next Poem
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