Featured Poem: Pass of Birds: Mám Éan
Slightest heat, a flickering pulse,
the oldest grief you will ever sing
permeates stone pentimento.
Ancient portraits appear alive—
charcoal-stippled shades reel
through astronomical twilight.
Years bleach gaze to gauze,
scything blades smudge
ash into apparition.
Relations appear hand-drawn,
glass slightly fogged—condensed
in incandescent wonder.
Each re-darned stitch catches
lineage until everything
interlaces into luck
minus worry.
Crow pair bears keen witness—
tilted heads bid—
Where have you wandered?
Why so long away?

