Paula Grenside, Poetry & Art Editor
David Ayers, Prose & Art Editor
David Wright, Editor
Michael Kimball, Guest Editor
Design by Carol Yocom

Blue. Green. Semi-green. Semi-blue-green. Semi-aquatic. Semi-opaque. Aquamarine. But not so labelled. Not so teal. Because it doesn't hold itself; it fills. Therefore we can say digitalised sepia. We can say orange neon tinting mist. And

naturally it's ridden on by the waves. By our reviews, by our views, by what we've read--by our fins and sterns... turquoise curves. And by those amniotic, blood brown features; blacks and lustrous grays. (What we're saying here is, on the one hand, the mirror as it reflects--and on the other hand, what you can see in sea-gray eyes.) And

all the deeper creatures it's filled with: shark, swordfish, minnow, abalone, oyster, octopus, strange fish. The mint and jade bodies of secret tadpoles. And

making up the atmosphere. Making up the human body, the jacaranda tree. And making up dominant green plains. And, trawling. Being poetically fluid, being seminal, being one of the first elements in: mega-lightning, in Venice, in the last drop. And

weather. Some kind of a curtain. The billowy, lonely jazz player in an alley. Zookeeper, who holds the light up to a mollycoddled Labrador. As we have circuses, drunken circuses, where wobbly clowns perform genuine miracles. And

what it's like: unfallen, dark and soaring, unbroken, running thin barely over / Small unseen rocks, while una sorella anoressica undresses--and it could be our sister--or she puts on a straightjacket... labeled "camisole". (And more than the tender moment, if we hear a Chopin etude by her.) And

baptism, which you can see in: Rehoboth's surf, beachcombers taking the drug of choice, taking the beach at full gallop, taking the wheel, the pier, croaking like creek toads, going for a cool dip.