Issue One: Spring 2017

Return to Issue One: Spring 2017



We would do well to remember that
what we detect is not nature on inhuman terms,
or inhuman terms alone,
not nature herself some might say—not I—
but nature as grasped by our capacities of understanding,
nature as grasped by nature in human form.

God retreats inasmuch as attention retreats from God,
but swing the lantern of attention back,
there, under the leaves, in the leaves themselves,
in various states of decay, soil is being born,
the mother of soil is delivering
her only child.

About the Author

Born in Florida, educated at Columbia University, Ricky Ray’s recent work can be found in The American Scholar (blog), Matador ReviewFugueLodestoneSixfold, and Chorus: A Literary Mixtape. His awards include the Ron McFarland Poetry Prize and Katexic’s Cormac McCarthy prize. He lives in Manhattan with his wife, three cats and a dog; the bed is frequently overcrowded.

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