by Joel Peckham

My feeling was, I was a grain of sand—Alexie Leonov, first man to walk in space.

I wasn’t asleep when the light came on and you filled the doorway, it’s happened Jo, you said, oh

by Joel Peckham

A good man’s life is never quite ended.

—Ed White, American Astronaut

1.

At your bedside, as you came awake, I found myself

by Maxim D. Shrayer

In the first spring of Covid fever,

still quarantined and fearful,

we bought a tall townhome

directly across the street

by Maxim D. Shrayer

Working in his kitchen garden

a gentle Jew is disregarding

thoughts of mammon as he gathers

what remains of his carrots,

by Jean Anne Feldeisen

Once, when religion meant goodness,

my family sat all together

in a pew near the front on the left, sat

upright, and quiet, if not always reverent.

by David James

when I get

to heaven

maybe I’ll understand

why God uses

a hands-off approach

by Edward A. Dougherty

Like these lands we travel through,

I have grown weary, so rough, so dry.

I wet a finger to give suck

by Adele Ne Jame

Of all his self-portraits, perhaps

we most love Beggar Seated on a Bank,

hunched in rags, scruffy hair,

by Stephen M. Sanders

My grandfather often walks

about my mental backwoods

just before I sleep. In the shades,

he looks, but does not speak.

by Stephen M. Sanders

I sat on a weathered, wooden bench

in the midst of fear-moistened believers

hanging themselves

on the evangelist’s words:

The Evangelist Sees

by Stephen M. Sanders

My hosts had refurbished

everything in the house:

all three stories were full

by Brandon James O’Neill

“I paint because the spirits whisper madly inside my head.” –El Greco

My uncle Wilbur heard

whispers too but never

put brush to canvas

by Chila Woychik

I picture it. A billion steely crosses

penetrating his vulnerability.

The porcupine god suffering in stereotype.

Every private part we cover with shame, exposed.

by Chila Woychik

What’s hanging in that tree?

A thorn in the paw, and oh

that face. The reaper’s angry,

the situation critical, for I feel

by Peter Carrington Venable

She lives among the Anakim,

twelve-foot-high giants,

their waists barely at eyelevel.

She looks skyward to see their faces.

by Jonathan Frey

If I had been there in the pew when you

handed her the bread and wine, I'd have pushed

by Erica Waters

Words of ownership

remain unspoken,

so they notice

by Angela Townsend

I believe more. I use fewer words.

Painters and quilters entrance me. They process the world in visions, prophets of color. Runners and ballerinas beckon me. They hit the flow beyond knowing, working out knots without syntax.