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Philip Levin

          If you stand there long enough the air will thicken     with dusk and dust and exhaust           and finally with a starless dark. The day will become something     it’s never been before, something for           which I have no name. — Philip Levine, from “How to Get There,” Poetry (February 2012)  

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D. A. Powell

The past is a terrifying place. Why would anyone choose to live there? Don’t forget me, they say, the ghosts expulsed by dawn have ceased to phosphoresce.
 It is not crucial that I write but that I record a few of these atypical migrations of the human soul. Yes, there is one I recognize only… Continue reading D. A. Powell

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American Culture · American Literature · Aubade · Classic · Contemporary · Online Anthology · Online Series · Periodical · Poetry

Greg Wrenn

Ode, Aubade And the morning, too, falters, struggles to assert itself, burn through the errant fog, the pines, scorch the whole grove of trees and crooked streetlamps. Your body’s turning, turning beside me in my bed’s— sprawl? Badlands? You sigh on my neck. Startled, the crick and sob buried inside it like a pulsar behind… Continue reading Greg Wrenn

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Contemporary · Latin-American Culture · Latin-American Literature · Nicaraguan Culture · Nicaraguan Literature · Online Anthology · Online Series · Poetry · Spanish Culture · Spanish Literature

Daisy Zamora

In the dimly lit room I had a brief glimpse of bliss: sight of your naked body like a god reclining. That was all. Quite unaware you got up to get your clothes just naturally while I shuddered like the earth split open by lightning. — Daisy Zamora, “Vision of Your Body,” UniVerse: Nicaragua.

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