A journal of short lyric poetry
New verse published each week — on salt, distance, quiet houses and the soft hour before a city begins.
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This week
Mara Voss · August 3, 2026 · Famous poets
Emily, your dashes are still open doors — I walk through them and the house keeps going. Walt, you promised you contained multitudes. I counted. You were not exaggerating.
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The garden after rain is not clean; it is only more itself.
A harbour wakes slowly, and so do we — salt on the window, light on the rope.
Leave one lamp burning. Rooms remember the people who forgot them.
The orchard counts its losses out loud, and calls the sound weather.
Distance is not the space between us but the time it takes to mean it.
Memory keeps a hallway open: doors on both sides, none of them locked.
Even the city has a soft hour: the street clears its throat and begins.