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Mistral Olor a salitre de rocas abruptas labradas por las olas,cuando el alma al descubierto se encoge como escarchaen tu mano y mientras partes los latidos desaceleran. Frío sobre el golfo de Génova, como la heladasonrisa que enmarca la despedida, inmutable.No es pasajero; ese viento lo llevas dentro,es la naturaleza que te reconoce sin mentiras.Continue reading “Irene Bablé Marruffi”

A Stone from the Rio Verde Translated from the Portuguese by Alexis Levitin to José Godoy Garcia, expert in stones and poetry A stone from the Rio Verdeengenders a river in my houseflowing subterraneousbeneath the carpet of the living room.A stone from the Rio Verdemocks our six faucetsspitting their bits of wateron the ceramic ofContinue reading “Astrid Cabral”

ANOTHER SENSITIVITY Awakened by a gradual loosening of sand between my fingers, by rough cryptic rubbings that red potatoes fill in creases belonging to my unwashed palms, by the sweet sighs crushed basil flowers expel behind the back of my nostrils, I stand inside myself. I know I sleep best when black soil crumbles itsContinue reading “Paul B. Roth”

the coast is cursal  —the full force of the wind  caught in a tempest  warnings of very high tides  everyone has flu  —we saw mist in the valleyrising almost to the top of the hills  this is the first century ADour eyes walk the coast curves  Exmoor Jan 1st 2000  Osiris 50

Translated from the Spanish by Stephen Kessler  cave at night Look. Kissing you here, I say it. Look.in this dark cave, look, lookat my kiss, my final darkness covering in definitive  nightyour luminous dawnbreakinginto blackness, and like a sun inside me announces  another truth.  Which you, so deep, don’t know. Out of your being myContinue reading “Vicente Aleixandre”

Fractured Birds Moments like fractured birds when I cannot speak. The flight of my voice from one human to another paralyzed in quartz or in sleep rumored to be sleep. There are moments & there are no moments— tiny husks of time fallen beneath my branches, beneath the arches of my feet, as another selfContinue reading “Alan Britt”

La paix des arbres Dans les arbres  parfois, les histoires des nouveau-nés s’enroulent aux branches. Il faut, pour les deviner, faire la nuit ces rêves qui traversent les flammes sans brûler. Alors seulement est-il possible, sous la Constellation du Feu, de voyager les uns avec les autres et d’inventer, même sans parler, la Paix desContinue reading “Marie-Christine Masset”

Meet you at the Osiris: a Parisian café in the American Wilderness I live in the boondocks of upstate New York, just south of the Canadian border. From my deck I watch an Adirondack River flowing slowly towards Lake Champlain. For blue jays, cardinals, chickadees, Canadian geese, squirrels, chipmunks, ground hogs, deer, fox and beaverContinue reading “Musings from Alexis Levitin”

Translated from the Danish by Thom Satterlee There weren’t so many lilacs earlier in the fall nor a wind so strong the roofs have been covered with a thin layer of frost she has to hurry to give one last look at the calendar with all the blank pages OSIRIS 91, 2020

EDITING AN OLD POEM Lost in a place  where angular words  lodge in my throat, half–formed thoughts dust down from their stanzas into a pile on the page. A loose thread of dangling participle ravels the poem, opening  a door in its wall where sunlight shifts over mimosa leaves, emptying their veins to the paper.Continue reading “Patty Dickson Pieczka”