February Feels Like

This, then, is the gift the world has given me (you have given me) softly the snow cupped in hollows

Two Travellers perishing in Snow The Forests as they froze Together heard them strengthening Each

I want to die while you love me, While yet you hold me fair, While laughter lies upon my lips And

was how horses simply give birth to other horses. Not a baby by any means, not a creature of liminal

5. Our bond is no little economy based on the exchange of my love and work for yours, so much for so

I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I Did till we loved. Were we not weaned till then, But sucked on

Folks, I'm telling you, birthing is hard and dying is mean— so get yourself a little loving in

My boat is of ebony; the holes in my flute are golden. As a plant takes out stains from silk, so wine

The maiden who gazes dreamily from her window resting on her elbows,— I do not love her for her

Early on, uncertain, when we had those few stolen clouded days along a cold shore, in a gloomy house

A day drunk with the nectar of nowness weaves its way between the years to find itself at the

I will swing my lasso of headlights across your front porch, let it drop like a rope of knotted light

Fie, foolish earth, think you the heaven wants glory Because your shadows do yourself benight?

Breathless, we flung us on the windy hill, Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass. You said,

First you must love your body, in games in wild places, in bodies of others, Then you must enter the

A little woman looks out the window: the penny-tree starts chinking a little man looks out: penny-

All summer the mockingbird in his pearl-gray coat and his white-windowed wings flies from the hedge

I want to touch her. Once. Again. I will wait if I must. Outwait. Wait so long she will age, pull

The world is a beautiful place to be born into if you don't mind happiness not always being so

I'm going out to clean the pasture spring; I'll only stop to rake the leaves away (And wait

Re: Your Submission 9:27pm Editor to Me Hanif, We regret to inform you that the poem in which the dog

Someone has stolen the thing you love most. You are surprised, because what the thief stole, you did

When it's over, it's over, and we don't know any of us, what happens then. So I try not

When I see birches bend to left and right Across the lines of straighter darker trees, I like to

In the quietest of spaces, On a twig in the hedge; near a cone at the top of a Torrey Pine tree; one

LOOK how the pale queen of the silent night Doth cause the ocean to attend upon her, And he, as long

"Why do I love" You, Sir? Because— The Wind does not require the Grass To answer—Wherefore

looking over the plums, one by one lifting each to his eyes and turning it slowly, a little earth,

That morning I heard water being poured into a teapot. The sound was an ordinary, daily, cluffy sound

It comes Unadorned Like a phrase Strong enough to cast a spell; It comes Unbidden, Like the turn of