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AFTER <strong>THE</strong> RAIN<br />
by Tasha Fouts<br />
the whole thing<br />
becomes sodden:<br />
the drunk weight of peonies<br />
the exhaustion of grass<br />
the way the tree’s branches<br />
are totally breathless.<br />
and yet<br />
from somewhere in this sleep<br />
the night’s air stirs -<br />
a wing-beat? a song-thrush? a cicada’s lust?<br />
A leaf upturns<br />
its underside soft and white as your belly.<br />
The Masters Revisited Pieter Bruegel Herring for Sake of Roes<br />
Don’t Count Chickens Bells Cat Hat on Pillar<br />
Allen Forrest<br />
70 71
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