Climbs My Limbs
by Michael Danahy I am a tree Of blood Rooted in skin. My brain Branches blood and nerve. Touch me: touch skin to skin. We will comb The birds
The Fugitive Oil for James Wright
by Michael Danahy The Monongahela, that flammable river, for once threatened to prove its invisible light. The ghosts of sons of miners’
American Cuneiform
by Glenn Morazzini He kneels on a prayer rug of sand, in a crumpled kurta, hands tied behind his back, looking up at the lesser gods, his