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We Magazine - Volume 17, Number 17
W e M a g a z i n e I s s u e 1 7 * V o l u m e 1 7
he is the highest apple
on my tree
ripening to a bushelful:
drop, pretty one, drop
*******
until he sang
i didn't know my heart
had so many
doors
Nancy Dunlop
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
Stratagems
of light slicing
a hall into webs
of leaf between two
trees:
have come in oblique
leaps to a place,
stacked trick on trick
to reach it-
this solar tremor-
tap heat &
movable heart of
red wood.
Michael Weaver
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
from STANCE
another driven plot, however
sheltered
falls away, leaves
barren
concrete-
to be stood on, askew
between holes where
buildings
halls, now space where
opening
form from one's only
distance
Stephen Cope
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
When the owl comes down and sits on the top of the birth pole
The unremarked messenger sidles from behind Corona Borealis
Breathless with complaining. A human life is more important
Than anything. And it says it again. To language is to listen.
Robert Kelly
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feedback / dispersion encouraged
contact editors c/o cf2785@albnyvms.bitnet
We Press
Postoffice Box 1503
Santa Cruz, California 95061
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