The Textures

A Poem by Maik Strosahl

When I recall the moments
I cherish most,
they were not just clear skies,
perfectly stilled forests
and mirrored lakes.

I treasure the textures:
the wisps and shadows
of clouds as they menace
then pass over the horizon;
the bend and release
of a breeze against
the ever green,
the sycamore,
a blade of grass;
the waves as they crash
onto a rocky shore,
the wake as it wobbles the bobber,
the memories that flood with ripples.

Open Door

A Poem by Lindsay Ballew

her fez
fur pulled over brow, ears
her skin
wizened and incandescent

her smile
drawn into

one unflinching moment

fingertips to chalice
lips to chalice

our grief

our brimming

our rising