Editor’s Desk: Poems



Imagination’s food stuff;

synapses of books


a raging river axon—

an open sandwich

Light from all sides,

dendrite fancies,

a meeting on a bridge—

the color of scarlet

like a grand staircase

twirling around

for us




Only after he returns

when it looks like he hasn’t found anything,

returning from that desert terrain

with just knowledge after a call

of a body

requested to ashes

and then a son’s open face

shut like an elegant box.


The open sun-filled alter;

some father’s remains:

a photo in likeness of him in half shadow

the silver and gold plated cigarette lighter,

the quizical shell map

from Bikini Atol.


He dies again

all the ways of mourning

as a son wearing his best shirt and black shoes;

the invoice, a shred of personal note, a note card,

a real love letter.

This way there’s a garden tremor

he tries to disguise

and the combing through of more details–

getting it right

and the way that falls and is picked up again.

A pen,

a lifeline

for tomorrow’s find.


Yon Walls


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