You trip over a word while carrying
a tray of vocabulary out to the pool
only to discover that broken glass
is a good topic.

I love to move like a mouse inside this puzzle for the body, balancing the wish to be lost with the need to be found.

In a world where cultures and religions are recklessly facing off, Sholeh Wolpé writes careful poems that cast a light on some of what we all hold in common.

I feel like the secretary to the morning whose only/
responsibility is to take down its bright, airy dictation/
until it's time to go to lunch with the other girls,/
all of us ordering the cottage cheese with half a pear.

Be careful, darling. Your footsteps land heavy here. Your racket will wake the dragons.

I live not in myself, but I become
Portion of that around me: and to me
High mountains are a feeling, but the hum
of human cities torture.