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Adam O. Davis
Goodnight—Mary, Jane, Pat. Sleep tight, you sweet operators of America, your voices strung like laundry across this nation drowsy with a full century's worth of light.

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Sarabande Books

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Hussain Ahmed
The sky is a rolag, carded with grief and dew. We were made in the image of our dead –   because God relies on recycling to keep the earth going around the sun.

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Four Way Review

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Katie Farris
Once, many years ago, we made love at a friend’s house. We were over- night guests, not perverts (on the whole) . . .

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Beloit

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Shangyang Fang
Her cardamom-like nipples bloomed in the mahogany frame of the mirror. She felt at ease. Perhaps she thought I was still too young? That I was more of a boy than a man? Or perhaps she saw that day, by the rosemary alley, a boy kissing my lips. He tasted like blueberries.

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Copper Canyon Press

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Paul Valéry (translated from the French by Nathaniel Rudavsky-Brody)
I was waiting for who knows whom? (You? or day—or—) A thought came.

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Farrar, Straus and Giroux

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Anna Maria Hong
Red fox, paws planted, staring back on the human path, sprung to the woods sifting autumn's dark rot, annamaya kosha: first beam.

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Colorado Review

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Denise Levertov
The flawed moon acts on the truth, and makes an autumn of tentative silences.

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New Directions

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Rachelle Toarmino
there are fresh coats of paint and a world in my mouth! adhesive doubts live in the hairs on my tongue!

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Big Lucks Books

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Jacqueline Allen Trimble
                                         And that suit was wearing her, keeping all its promises in all the right places. Indigo. Matching gloves. Suede shoes dippity-do-dahed in blue.

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Poetry

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John Ashbery
There was an unshapely tuft where the chimes rang and forever after it was solid wall. Nothing so became it as its tiresome leave-taking.

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HarperCollins

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