Poetry
The Exile of Mourning by David Anthony Sam
Fire harvests my dreams as God is spoken when ashes stir the wind. Women wash themselves in such residue, knead bread from the chalk of the bone dead while singing…
PoetryPileated by David Anthony Sam
Pileated His hand is in the rapid hammering as if his touch still carpentered my world, shaping with router and band saw the wood that grew from the black humus.…