Winter 2007

Table of Contents - Vol. III, No. 4


Poetry    Essays    Fiction    Book Reviews

Jim Corner



Barely a prickly pear breaks
through adobe crust where the road
leaves asphalt; I imagine a mirage:
fields of purple lupine and damp green
where irrigation reigns,
though an ancient ambiance
does not return.

In the eleventh century the Gila
flooded beyond Casa Grande; where corn
was king, potters spun jars,
you would have etched the green ware
inside and out into exquisite urns:
blue and rustic orange from the kiln.

This eve, at dusk, lunar half-light
transforms the village; I lie with you
in straw while crook pipes
hypnotize our libidos.

Caught between two dimensions,
we caress as sleep hovers.


© Jim Corner


Poetry    Essays    Fiction    Book Reviews

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