Paul Rabinowitz’s “Woman with Tweed Blazer”

Behind us, the tsunami has settled into horizon.
We’ve survived, mostly, by talking back

to echoes. Some of us weld, deadhead coleus.
Others forgive transgressors, deflect

by artistry. In this thirteenth issue, we mind
the jellied beads of moth eggs,

find solace in wind chimes, reproach
in a goat’s peripheral gaze.

We invent new superstitions but conjure
comforts wherever we can.