Shutta Crum
Joseph McNair
Laszlo Slomovits
Joanie Freeman
Chris Lord
Elisavietta Ritchie
Gerald Clark
Karyn M. Wolven
Duane Locke
Mervyn M. Solomon
Paul B. Roth
Sue Budin
Running Cub
Silvia Scheibli
Geoffrey Philp
Marilyn Churchill
Jerry Blanton
Steve Beaulieu
Don Hewlett

Fred Wolven

        at your condo

Ford lake ice
is translucent and melting
It can't reflect,
the clear blues of the sky or see
the smile in your brown eyes when
we kiss
our arms wrapped tight
like tentacles of two mollusk
in the rapture of mating.

The snows have evaporated.
Maybe more will come tomorrow.
Today we walk through
a dry Depot Town.

The Huron River runs swift
under Cross Street.
We descend to the wooden footbridge
crossing the river and down
to Heritage Park, the flood plain where
the river hasn't overflowed for decades.
The grass is wet with remnants of snow.

And along the dry paved path
next to the river, the trees
still have strings of holiday's lights.

We follow the river downstream.
The ripples travel with the water,
yet seem to stay in one place,
an enigma from the sunlight, rocks, and wind.

Others walk beside the river as we,
hands in pockets for warmth.
And that duck swimming against the current
I would point it out, but

your unpocketed left hand
my unpocketed right hand
press together so tight,
I don't want to let go.


Scones leaking Honey
on fingers picking
Strawberries from a plate
set beside the black
coffee for me, not
forgotten magic to return
for you

only in a tee shirt
sitting across-
legged in the chair
and I not wanting
to leave you
alone until tomorrow
is waiting


Don Hewlett, Ann Arbor

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