Reviewed by Caron Andregg As I am finishing up writing this review of The Poetry of Chūya Nakahara: Japan’s Modernist Master, (Tuttle, 2026), the
Our house underwater has risen like a submarine composed of a thousand particles of broken crockery and driftwood furniture and scoured porcelain to where
“No Dogs” the sign states, “Closed Sunset to Sunrise” Predawn: Hank-Puppy has already slunk through the space the chains allow the gate and rolls
I plucked a sage-colored pod from a bush and fingered it like a talisman on my way up the steep hill. I thought of