Current Issue About Editorial Note Archives Submitting Links		Sophia Argyris I Lost the Stars When I Came to the City They were the first thing to go, as if they had tumbled from my pockets on the way here, a bright trail leading back to the forest. Other things fell away later, with less drama. Naivety, youth, silence. Less real to begin with. Now I carry with me things made of paper: a novel, a notebook. Their bound spines make mine stronger, and like skin, their covers conceal and console. Next Poem
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