Majesty by Beth Moon




Your hull muscles its way into

the forest, the 1% of you that’s still alive.


Your eyes are not empty. A squirrel

pops his head out, he’s your pupil.


I’m your pupil. By your vigor, how you’ve

welcomed the sun, a history of seasons


in your skin. Your great gape offers shelter

to wrens, bats, children’s offerings—such


resonance in your hollow, orisons and sighs.

Your mouth sweetly mossy with songs;


your limbs full of dare and possibility

and your hair, OMG, your hair!


Elizabeth Kerlikowske 



Snow Hair


Owl face opens,

its voice a slow trawl

through foggy inlets,

slivers of ice memory,

snow hair’s ancient beauty new

each season of melt,

moon braille carved

on nights of wind howl,

by pelting rain and the fingers

of God; snow hair

les cheveux de la niege, new

each throng of sedge warblers,

when bees let honey

ooze a sweet-mask

down the trunk –

fluent in languages

of soil and time,

shrinks, stretches, swells,

weathers the languid

carousel of stars,

el cabello de la nieve, new

each ancient spring.


Cindy Bousquet Harris






us more
than we

can imagine.
Does not

the inward

flame, but
makes majesty

of gnarled and
knotted skin.

Take this tree

in sunlight,
a brutal silver

the vaulting
leaves above.

An oblong gap
in the trunk

large enough
for a slender

woman to sit
No wind to
forgive time

bustling by.
A broken

branch shagged
with autumn

in the green
fuzz below.

fell away


What was

now lost

in a prayer
of rain.


Todd McCarty




Yucca Brevifolia, Joshua Tree


A desert moth floats unharmed among yucca                  

most spiked of lilies. How intimate is


this shaggy forest with survival; for instance,

Joshua stores water in his trunk. And on occasion 


his bristly arms offer bulky cream blooms

soft scent of smoke. Here, the yucca-moth busy


with pollen, lays her own eggs. Too many?

the Joshua can abort ovaries. And imagine—


his prayer reaches to clouds heaped in dense blue.

Come dusk, the bright billows darken, drop


rain through the spun out distance between us,

plant and human.


Nancy Scott Campbell


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