Current Issue About Editorial Note Archives Submitting Links		Kristin George Van Gogh’s Ambition My only ambition is a few clods of earth, some sprouting wheat, maybe an olive grove. A liquid landscape where light pulses like blood and wind returns to its center. Somewhere I can unfurl my coat from what it has been holding inside all winter, dip this drab body between orchard rows, align my self with dirt. Where I can enter the darkness that quiets without closing, that cradles my head in its warm damp thickening. Next Poem
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