Reading Basho in Naches Heights

When I smell the sage release green heat

Hear pheasants flutter on the rise

See the sun shine orange on Mt. Adams

Even in Yakima

I long for Yakima.


By Terry Martin

Valentine's Day

Shards of vodka

bottle flower

in the dead middle

of the lawn, where

the Christmas tree, prone,

wreathed in burnt lights,

points, a compass needle,

past the curb, toward

the low brown hills.

By Mark Jackley