Edition2

by LYNDAL TURNER There is a place that exists only in darkness, where the streetlights’ shallow pools don’t touch, and the cars we’ve made crouch in the space we’ve made for them. The arc of their backs glitter with tears.…

by LYNDAL TURNER The weathered wooden bridge feels sunken, but it’s a trick of slowly rotting leaves, whose carcasses still linger from the fall, sponging up the drops whose descent has not already been suspended by the canopy of ancient…