“They Sit Together on the Porch”… They sit together on the porch, th… Almost fallen, the house behind th… Their supper done with, they have… The dishes–only two plates now, tw…

“The Farm” by Joyce Sutphen My father’s farm is an apple bloss… He keeps his hills in dandelion ca… and weaves a lane of lilacs betwee… and the jack-in-the-pulpits.

“If You Knew” by Ellen Bass What if you knew you’d be the last to touch someone? If you were taking tickets, for ex… at the theater, tearing them,

“The Peace of Wild Things” by We… When despair for the world grows i… and I wake in the night at the lea… in fear of what my life and my chi… I go and lie down where the wood d…

“In a Station of the Metro” by E… The apparition of these faces in t… Petals on a wet, black bough.

“Shoulders” by Naomi Shihab Nye A man crosses the street in rain, stepping gently, looking two times… because his son is asleep on his s… No car must splash him.

“Flying at Night” by Ted Kooser Above us, stars. Beneath us, cons… Five billion miles away, a galaxy… like a snowflake falling on water.… some farmer, feeling the chill of…

“For What Binds Us” by Jane Hir… There are names for what binds us: strong forces, weak forces. Look around, you can see them: the skin that forms in a half-empt…

“Anthropocene Pastoral” by Cather… In the beginning, the ending was b… Early spring everywhere, the trees… pink and white, lawns the sharp gr… that meant new. The sky so blue it…

“Instructions on Not Giving Up”… More than the fuchsia funnels brea… of the crabapple tree, more than t… almost obscene display of cherry l… their cotton candy-colored blossom…

“Otherwise” by Jane Kenyon I got out of bed on two strong legs. It might have been otherwise. I ate

“Ars Poetica” by Archibald MacLe… A poem should be palpable and mute As a globed fruit, Dumb As old medallions to the thumb,

“To Be Held” by Linda Hogan To be held by the light was what I wanted, to be a tree drinking the rain,

“Dishwater” by Ted Kooser Slap of the screen door, flat knoc… of my grandmother’s boxy black sho… on the wooden stoop, the hush and… of her knob-kneed, cotton-aproned…

“Fire and Ice” by Robert Frost Some say the world will end in fir… Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire.