Miriam Levine

This Sunday morning at the garden allotment, the tomatoes were in flower--there's fruit, too--the cosmos open, and kamatsu and red musta...

In March, J. shows up on a country road in New Hampshire, D.P. sits in the sun with her paintings in Harvard Square, M.S. picks out a scarf ...

An independent man may be hard to find. Wherever they can find coconuts, the men use a long hook to glean th...

Twilight, dusk, blue hour--many names in many languages for this time between day and night.  Last night's twilight in Flamingo Par...

Wishing you all a fine year ahead.  2013!  Deadlines, and the usual, have kept me away from the blogosphere.  It's warming to be bac...

Many thanks to Matthew Silverman, editor at  The Blue Lyra  for publishing two of my  poems .  The fall issue includes work by B.Z. Nidit...

Our street is under construction.  Rain washes brick dust into the street.  I doubt I could make anything as rich as these colors and sha...