In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

Mr. Livingston's Engine at 3pm came the rumble from the throat of the mountain and in a moment we knew a bolus of black steel hell fire would leap shrieking around the railcurve grab our thrashing hearts in its piston fist and squeeze them tight, squeeze until we knew our chests would split wide open from the pain and the thrill when it passed, an oily mountain of riveted iron, in a hot spray of sulphured steam and a gritty bubble of burning ash, it sucked the air from our lungs and the light from our eyes and in the cab Mr. Livingston rode with thunder in his very bones, smiled down trackside and waved to us mortals below. —John Rhinehart A Changing Season Outside this skeleton house an early moon in nested clouds rakes the budding trees with its cold, silvery breath, and time hangs motionless between us like an empty room. This changing season seeks birth in floods, and fires, ancient voices of this moutain. Streams and rivers drown the spring flowering, and fire sears the tender blooms, benevolent corruptions which consume nouses, forests, and our new born longings. —John Rhinehart Solemn Gold The air is full of feathered song that parts the morning frost. The beat of wings destroys, like shattered glass, the crispness born of night. Rhythms of the sun on yellow wing make music for the angels, curled in sleep and drifting on the backs of clouds. —Harding Stedler 56 ...

pdf

Share