Sonnet
Philip Miller
To hold my son is to hold my father,
the clasp a chance to grieve again.
Song
John Leonard
No one hears a beetle braving the distance
between two fading initials. All they hear is a bird
they can’t describe.
Volume XLIV
"Alchemical Poetry" - Dreama J. Kattenbraker, mixed media on canvas, 36" x 60"
