sovay | The river, where she sleeps

And probably because I spent yesterday at a parade, I fell over before one in the morning and slept for something like nine hours. I remember dreaming, about classes I never took. (Even in my dreams there were improbable connections between people I didn't think knew one another.) Waiting in my e-mail when I woke up was a contributor's copy of The Cascadia Subduction Zone, containing my poem "Ortygia to Trimountaine." It is about Boston landmarks and the nymph Arethousa; it was sparked by a late-night exchange with

asakiyume and I hold

derspatchel accountable as presiding muse. They're a new market for me. Print and electronic editions can be ordered here; all issues become freely available online six months after publication, meaning that you can now (if you didn't when I yelled about them in April) read Amal El-Mohtar's astonishing review of A Mayse-Bikhl and Rachel Swirsky's of The Moment of Change. It's a beautifully put together magazine. There may be more content here later, but right now you just get an eighteenth-century lion.

The river, where she sleeps

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