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 -

by ZiXiang Zhang
foreign cars cruising,
horsepower sprinting in exhaust, the bundt-pan valleys
schism between gridded plants and tin-cast barnyards,
the coming-passing of night so sentient it throbs when fallen leaves gather–