It Only Starts, by Melody Davis

The American road is our art, pure process of leaving. Driving doesn’t end. It only startsas the radio feeds a secret part of the brain that’s always running the American road. Our art has no destination, though it departs, and the eyes, never full, keep filling. Driving doesn’t end. It only starts when the land…

Men at Forty, by Donald Justice

Men at forty Learn to close softly The doors to rooms they will not be Coming back to.At rest on a stair landing, They feel it Moving beneath them now like the deck of a ship, Though the swell is gentle. And deep in mirrors They rediscover The face of the boy as he practices…