Twisted Bay laurel trunks lean down the hillside branches covered in moss scarves quail make a quick exit like a troupe of dancers racing across stage lights to fame, the
How can I be sure I’m the best one for the job, a statue hewn from rose quartz, a slab for nose, a chunk for body, two lips unable to speak
I learned to think with my eyes speak with my hands in the shimmery violet and reddish black of the evening light the sound of Aramaic wending along the Eustachian
In my dreams, he stretches far or holds the hand of shadows lags behind as I try to catch up my Rebbe of Prague who installed me inside the Hall of Justice as
You swooped in to take a close-up the first time in more than sixty years by my count, no time at all. Maybe you couldn’t believe the wind whispering in your soft ear had to see with
Snap out of it, I told my golem friend. There are more important things than dwelling in the past perfect, no need to cry over spilled chicken soup nor hunger after latkes with sour
Collaborative Zoom Reading: Maw Shein Win, Lenore Weiss, Alex Mattraw & Tiff Dressen
7-8pm
Thursday, March 26, 2026Clio’s Books, 353 Grand Avenue, 7pm to 9pm Influence, Reinvention & Work that EnduresLenore Weiss, Lee Rossi & Paul Corman-Roberts
Friday, April 17, 2026
National Poetry MonthSF Writers Grotto, 5-7 pm1663 Mission Street, #602
San Francisco, CA