Issue Four

Aging

by Sandy Day

The door swings wide

with hinges oiled

like a smile

I’m open.

A lover’s body

is never old

as kindness takes a hold and

passion rises

from compassion’s well

deeply dug

receiving and giving

forgiven

forgotten

start over

it’s new

close your eyes

and remember

touch me all the time.

I need one chance

to begin again

and decide that

benevolence never ends.

The gift of age

is knowing

of stages

clinging not to the start.

Another deeper print

closer to life

sleep sex pray

and walk again.

The Old Ones In Renaissance

by Joseph Farley

Pan returned

accompanied by the old gods,

so the dance began.

A season of love followed

where the flowers all bloomed twice.

Then the year turned,

and it was the time of sacrifice.

The new believers barely looked,

too busy with their steps,

as the crying children

were stacked upon altars of stone..

As the smoke and ashes rose

the dancers slowed their pace,

but only just long enough

to wipe small tears from their face.

The Water of Life


by S.P. Flannery

Through pores in exhalation flows
liquids distilled thrice
in old oaken casks,
troglodyte barrels kept secret,
a cache dusted off to celebrate
the summer solstice,
mid-day the libations begin
to pour, sun-worshiped
faces explode with sanguine
exuberance, song and dance
appear, apprehension cast off
to allow voices to wail
in disharmony and limbs to flail
without purpose, time blurs
as sight spins remembrance
into black, into focus at
midnight when in a position
pronate, naked in sweat
licked fermented, the past.