The following poems are from our June/July 2019 issue, which you can buy here. Robert Lundquist You were sleeping when I left, your breath fogging the mirrors of our cold room, the ceiling collecting dew and frost, the road through you winding down to deer crossing, to barns you played in as a child. Outside, the same pine trees, manzanita, the bush of bougainvillea with barely a blossom. Inside, the limes on the table fade. A cockatoo lifts its wings in a corner of the room.
