by Armine Pilikian
you, dear,
just might have the face
of a thousand summers

by Roseann Cima
the sun is moving the
afternoon is gone
se fue.
a journal in verse might be
a possibility.

A poem of the freshness and the nostalgia of summer.

by Caroline Chen
… as we hurtle on, counting the miles
until we are home.

by Nathalie Trepagnier
Give me a pen and I’ll map the township out -