By Mohammad Sharifi

I strike the first line.

On the second line I put your moon

To settle the unripe fever of the words.

On the next line a wolf howls at you.

By Supreet Singh

they don’t tell you that it comes in waves

that it ebbs and flows, this tidal pool of sorrow

Cuando te tengo cerca

Cuando te veo,

es como mirar al sol;

que ciega con su brillo