Between the Yardstick and the Mile / Ken Wilding

Between the yardstick and the mile
The Rumor animates fields of Anemones.
It feeds the fish that drinks the rain.
It turns the plumes of broad winged hawks,
Huffs into sails of lonely ships.
It warms the tomb with candle flame
And further than this star.
All things breath in its trace,
Taste with its tongue,
Belie the exigence of form.
And in a book I read,
The wounded heart was freed
Upon a day when the rain fell up.

Can one dream of what can never be?
Is it outside of human possibility?
Words and words thrown at the corner
Where no one stands.

– Ken Wilding / Spring Lake, Michigan

Walking Through the Hollow / Ben Snider

 Walking Through The Hollow

No birds call, no crickets sing
No wind blows through no trees
No words echo, no flowers spring
No self has no value here
No heart beats, no pains sting
No way up to no way down
No way left for my being
No way right, no way wrong
No way out of no seeing
No feet on no ground
No me to know the meaning.

Ben Snider / Arcadia, Michigan

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Well, this wasn’t supposed to happen.
Where do things go,
the sock missing from the dryer,
the dog’s squeaky toy,
the missing set of keys,
that original copy of a birth certificate
you need to renew your passport?

Is there really a mystery place
where lost things gather?
Is that what purgatory is?
Where is heaven?
Where did love go?
Once it is lost
will we ever see it again?

David Jibson
Ann Arbor, Michigan