I’m standing knee deep in this deafening river. Down in the canyon, my voice echoes back to me. Flooded with pleasure and pain,
After Ada Limón It is the season I often begin again, even though I am too old for pencil sharpeners and fat, pink erasers,
Reviewed by Kathy Nelson “Dusk is a mouthful of loose teeth, the sky / darkening toward a black eye” writes Lindsay Wilson, signaling with