Robert Estep

The goblet, the archway into the old town, the snowwhite V of a sapling in…

Only twice in a lifetime might a stranger be plucked from the crowd and addressed…

The day sat still, as though terror- struck by night. And moved in its hours…

Dolphin-love amid the derricks, the squeal and grind of iron cables, seaweed like pistachio floss,…

A window small enough to fit inside a matchbox. A boat stapled back together each…

Three cheers for the little queen of the easel. And three for the prince of…

The cold path up to shelter had lepered the travelers’ hands with blisters. What had…

When the planted stakes had been splintered, the delicate trellises kicked aside and heaped up…

The ships are painted red above the waterline. And below, a blond nothingness attractive to…

Bottles of perfume and aftershave, rafting their transatlantic smallness. When birds are the noisy object,…